


Like a Really Good Date

by Neverwaswise



Series: Anything I Wouldn’t Do [2]
Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Aro gradually seducing Peter like its 1899, Bickering, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Peter is so very skittish, Pre-Relationship, Which might be a good idea considering, mention of suicide, vampire hunter x vampire au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverwaswise/pseuds/Neverwaswise
Summary: Peter’s eBay package is held hostage and so off he goes into the snowy Vegas night to save it.





	1. Ransom

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in limbo between their first meeting and the events of Anything I Wouldn’t Do.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

“Alright, you fucking bastard. Give it to me.”

Aro looks up from the cardboard box in his hands with mock surprise, “Hello there. Is it possible you are referring to this?”

Peter growled, his arms tight around his chest to stave off the cold as he stomped closer to the park bench the vampire was perched on.

“Obviously, you bloody prick. I got your ransom note. Email? Really?”

“How else was I supposed to get you out of your apartment in the middle of the night. I wonder what’s in here,” Aro said thoughtfully, shaking the box a little.

Peter tensed, “Its nothing. Just give it back to me and you can stay here freezing your balls off by yourself. Or do vampires not have those.”

“I think you know very well what my breed does and does not have,” Aro said with a knowing smile.

Peter groaned, “Stop that. I’m not going to shag you. Why are all of you vampires always so fucking horny.”

The tip of Aro’s bright tongue peaked out of his mouth for a moment and then he said, “Why don’t you sit down for a moment, Peter. It’s such a lovely night.”

“Is this part of the ransom.”

“If it makes it easier for you.”

“No, it doesn’t. AndI have so many better things to do. You can’t feel it, because you happen to be evil incarnate, but its bloody freezing out here.”

Aro sighs, “Very well.”

A pale hand holds out the box.

“You can take it, but if you choose to stay a bit I would be ever so pleased.”

Peter doesn’t manage to completely mask how skittish he feels as he creeps close enough to take the box. But Aro doesn’t mention it.

Very ready to not be in this park any longer, Peter immediately spins on his heel the moment he has the box and marches back toward his building two whole blocks away.

Where he’ll ride the elevator up and spend the evening drinking in his big empty apartment.

He gets all the way to the sidewalk and around the corner.

And then he stops, clenches his teeth and rolls his eyes, “Fucking hell.”

When he gets back to the park, Aro is right where he left him, greeting him cheerfully as if he hadn’t seen him in weeks rather than minutes.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter demands, “A posh, soulless a bastard like you has nothing better to do than steal my mail. What’s the deal with that? No ancient ruins to haunt? Hordes of virgins to slaughter?”

Aro makes a face,”I have never lived in ruins, to haunt them or otherwise,” he smirks, “And there are far better things to do with virgins.”

Peter groaned, “Why did you even go there. That was pathetic. But really, answer the question or I’m leaving. What do you want?”

“Just some intelligent conversation. I’m willing to settle for speaking with you instead.”

“You arrogant twat. The fact that you’ve managed to shut your gob long enough to have a conversation or two at all astounds me. You wouldn’t recognize intelligent conversation if it bit you.”

“Mmm,” Aro hummed appreciatively, eyes doing something very unsubtle to the length of Peter’s body, “I’d be willing to put that to the test.”

“Stop it,” Peter groaned.

Aro made one of his unhinged little giggles and then tilted his head back as his eyes slipped away from Peter to gaze happily at the moon. Every line of him relaxed and at ease. 

Peter stood in the snow and fidgeted, wondering what the hell he was doing. He tucked the box under one arm and slipped one of his rapidly chilling hands into the pocket of his jeans. He was trying for cool and unaffected, but he sensed he might just have managed awkward and uncomfortable.

Of course his inability to talk to people would also translate over equally well to conversations with monsters. Not sure why that surprised him at all actually.

“Do you celebrate Christmas, Peter?” Aro asked.

Peter snorted, “I work in Vegas. What do you think.”

“I know very little about it actually. This city.”

“Really? I’m surprised you lot don’t completely infest this place, to be honest. Didn’t know enough about you to keep well away back then but Charlie has a point. It is stupidly vulnerable.”

“Oh, don’t let anyone hear you say that, dear,” Aro said with a smile, “Might give them ideas.”

Peter sniffed, “We’re on the watch now. Just do them like we did Jerry.”

“Peter Vincent, such a brave hero.”

“Oi! Don’t you start! I hunt the things that hunt me. Nothing brave or heroic about it. Just survival!”

“You misunderstand me,” Aro says softly, looking at him again, “I meant it as a compliment.”

Peter couldn’t meet those eyes for long, clearing his throat a bit as he glanced over the snow littered park, the bare bones of the trees.

“I’m quite mad, you know,” Aro says.

That shocks a laugh out of Peter, “Yeah, picked up on that a bit.”

Aro looks at him, grinning, “So very astute. I so admire that about you.”

Peter rolled his eyes and finally sat on the bench, “Astute, my ass. I’m just not blind. You’re mad as a boat of bananas.”

Aro blinked at him.

“And everybody knows that about you. Its practically common knowledge.”

“What is?”

“That Aro, Head Bastard of the Volturi has gone even more completely off his head,” Peter says, “Left the policing of the vampire world to the pups.”

“Well, it was about time for a holiday.”

Peter snorted bitterly, “Got tired of murdering your own kind and well as all the humans.”

Aro bowed his head slightly in agreement, dark lashes sweeping his cheeks as he closed his eyes. When they opened again, they stared at the empty air and the moonlight bursting from the snow.

“I protected my own,” he murmured, listening to the crisp wind whistle through the sleeping branches of the trees, “For ages, I protected them. Which of course, ultimately served to protect myself. Kept the two species, humans and vampires, from extinguishing each other. But all empires turn terribly sour in the end. It took far too long for me to see. I have reigned as a tyrant far longer than I have been anything else.”

Then Aro sighed and murmured, “Lascia, lascia le selve, folle garzon. Lascia le fere, ed ama.”

“What does that mean.”

The corner of Aro’s mouth twitches toward a faint smile, “It means that I have chosen another way. Or I am trying to.”

“What made you leave it.”

Aro glanced over at Peter, trying not to fixate on the way the wind was ruffling the human’s hair, “The only real thing that can change the very old. The very young.”

Peter shivered and shifted on the bench, thinking of Amy and Charley and the way the two of them had shattered his old, brittle fantasy of a life in a matter of hours.

Frowning, Aro ran his eyes up and down Peter for a moment. Then he stood.

Peter was immediately tense. He watched the vampire carefully as Aro slipped out of his fine wool coat. Then, standing with only the sharp lines of his suit between his skin and the wind he barely felt, Aro pinched the coat at its shoulders and held it out with an elegant bow.

“If you would permit,” Aro said.

Peter’s stare flicked between the vampire and the coat in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.”

Aro giggled just a little, “Deadly.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at the vampire.

“Just a joke. Sorry. You should take this though. Since, as we’ve discussed, I can’t feel the cold.”

“Don’t need it,” Peter said. And then he sat there for a moment, shivering, while Aro held out the coat pointedly.

“Alright, you bastard. Give it over,” Peter said, snatching the coat out of pale hands.

Aro didn’t say anything as he sat back down. He was careful not to look smug, but Peter wasn’t fooled. But he slipped the coat on regardless and buttoned it up completely.

“There’s something for you in the left breast pocket,” Aro said.

Peter immediately stiffened, holding his arms out away from his body as if Aro had just told him the coat was full of sleeping spiders.

Aro gave him a chiding look.

“It’s alcohol, you dramatic creature.”

Peter hesitated and then gingerly reached into the coat. Pulled out a flask. It was gold and engraved to within an inch of its life. Exactly the sort of thing he imagined Aro would own.

Peter snorted at it but opened it and took a sip.

“Oh,” he said appreciatively, despite himself. Then he took another two swallows from the flask.

“Might I suggest going easy on that,” Aro said, “It’s quite a bit outside your budget. You should savor it.”

“Outside my budget. Fuck you too, arsehole.”

Aro watched him tilt his head back a bit to take yet another drink. Watched his throat pull the liquid down into his body, color already beginning to rise on his cheeks.

“God, that is good stuff,” Peter said appreciatively after swallowing. He tucked the flask back into the pocket of the coat and that rare, cheeky smile Aro adored rising on his face, “If more of that is on offer, I might come out here willingly next time.”

“So your palate isn’t completely destroyed by that trash you drink.”

Peter’s laugh was sudden was light reaching through a crack in stone, his brows going up, white teeth flashing, “You’re talking to me about destroyed palates. Bloody Christ on a boat.”

Then he threw his head back a bit and kept laughing.

And Aro sat on the other end of the bench, watching him with unblinking, hungry eyes that Peter was far too distracted to notice.

Finally Peter went limp and sprawled back against the bench. He sighed, “Fuck, what is my life. That’s the hardest I’ve laughed in weeks.”

He took another sip from the flask. Then he glanced over at Aro. And started laughing all over again.

Aro frowned, “What is so amusing.”

Peter snickered and managed, “Where did you even manage to find a leaf this time of year.”

Then Peter reached out and plucked a dry brown leaf from where it was caught in Aro’s hair with the very tips of his fingers. Pinched between the longest two fingers in his hand, he brandished it nonchalantly to Aro and smirked.

“Bit distracted in your old age, Aro?”

“No, my dear,” Aro said eyes flicking from the leaf to Peter’s face, “I find I am rather extraordinarily focused of late. More so than I have been for eons and ages long lost to dust.”

Then the vampire reached out.

And slowly touched the dry, brittle leaf with a fingertip. Never looking away from Peter, he drew his touch down the leaf, until he touched Peter’s skin.

Peter sat frozen as that cold hand brushed so gently down the back of his hand. Unable to look away from those red eyes.

“I am so glad,” Aro murmured, “That we have found a sort of peace between us”

Then he drew his hand away and Peter was finally able to draw a breath.

“Right, well,” he took a drink out of the flask he’d almost forgotten he held. Then he took another swallow, glancing at Aro and then out at the snow.

Finally, he gathered his limbs and shot to his feet, “Time for me to leave.

He began to shrug out of the coat.

Suddenly, Aro moved. Just fast enough for an onlooker to see it as remarkable agility rather than teleportation.

Glancing up at Peter and deliberately telegraphing every movement, Aro closed his hands on the lapels of the coat, holding it in place before Peter could take it off.

“I must insist that you keep it, my dear. It suits you.”

“Uhuh,” Peter replied, voice tight as he held carefully still.

Peter was well aware how untrue Aro’s claim was. The coat’s broad shoulders fit him like he was a stork that flew into a line of laundry.

Aro’s hands slid up and around the collar. Then back down the lapels while Peter watched.

“Thank you for visiting, Peter,” Aro said, resting his hands against Peter’s chest, “It was delightful.”

Peter startled and dragged his eyes away from Aro’s gaze, “For one of us, maybe.”

“Hmm...”

“Alright,” Peter said, turning away, “I’m done for the night. Thanks for the jacket. Smells like jackass.”

Which was a lie and they both knew it because Aro, by his very nature, smelled amazing. And this fact was very irritating to Peter.

Peter decidedly did not look back as he walked away, the thin dusting of snow on the ground crunching and squeaking beneath his feet.

Peter got all the way to his building before he realized he’d forgotten the box.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned, swinging around to go back.

Aro was standing directly behind him, entire face involved in a beaming smile. He held the package delicately in both hands.

Peter was a bit too tipsy to startle just then. Luckily. He was able to glare at the vampire instead of screeching like an idiot.

“Give me that,” Peter said, snatching the box out of Aro’s hands, “And get lost before someone sees you.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“For me to be seen chatting it up with a vampire? Especially one like you? You can bloody well guarantee it would be bad.”

Aro sighed, “Very well, my dear. I will bid you goodnight once more. Rest well.”

Peter was already turning away and sauntering into the building, “Yeah, sure thing.”

By the time he made it up to his room, most of the shivering had stopped. He tossed the box on a table and slipped out of the coat, throwing it over a chair and pointedly not thinking about maybe keeping it on and crawling into bed with it. He’d had some weird urges over the years but, Jesus Christ, the smell of that coat was ridiculously amazing.

He hurried away from the chair and into his room, slipping between the silk sheets of his bed with a groan and a sigh.

Sleep. His whole body was quickly being overtaken by the warmth of the alcohol and the seductive murmurs of sleep as his body quickly finished thawing in the heated apartment.

He burrowed into his bed, closed his eyes.

And as he was drifting headfirst into a deep sleep, he definitely did not think of dark red lips and a night bright with moonlight and snow.


	2. Politicians and CEOs

Peter woke on the brink of death.

His bones ached. His throat was on fire, every breath agony. His head was stuffed full of misery and pressure.

He groaned and gasped and reached for the bedside table. His fingers caught on the edge of an old glass of something or other. He pinched the rim of the glass and dragged it through the air to balance it on his chest.

Then he peeled back an eyelid.

The light of morning as harsh and every part of him hated it. He closed the eye again and groaned miserably. If only he could close the curtains. But he would have to suffer. He had no idea where the remote had gone to, but he knew one thing about it. In his condition, it was too far to be of use. Might as well be on the moon.

His throat scratched and stuck as he swallowed and he cracked open an eye again to glance at the glass. Nothing was obviously floating around in it.

Good enough.

He tipped it over towards his mouth and took a huge gulp.

Ugh. What the fuck did that used to be.

He took another drink.

At least he was a bit more alert now. Enough to contemplate a voyage to the living room. He had some Vicodin in the kitchen.

Better idea. He could call someone to bring it to him.

Except he didn’t have the staff he used to when he was an alcoholic running from his problems by overbooking himself for the enjoyment of his rioting fans. Now he was an alcoholic running directly at his problems, because Charlie and Amy would go in by themselves if he didn’t.

And monster hunting didn’t pad the bank account as well as one might think. And Charlie always gave him such a disappointed look when he suggested selling the monsters for parts.

Stupid heroic kid. Made Peter want to be a better person himself. Because he was an idiot.

He was lying very still and gathering his courage to make an attempt at rising from his bed when he heard a familiar buzzing.

From the other room.

He flopped over a bit and gave a weak, “Of fucking course...”

The phone had stopped it’s summons long before Peter managed to stagger out of bed. The air of the apartment was hot on his clammy skin. And, the moment he was more or less on his feet, his nose immediately began to drain.

“Ugh,” Peter managed, trying to remember if he owned a tissue box.

He didn’t. But there was always toilet paper.

After a shambling detour to the bathroom, he began staggering into the living room. He squinted against the light pouring in through the windows, trying to locate his phone.

What he found instead woke him up like a bucket of water.

The coat.

Hanging off one of his chairs like it didn’t represent the source of his current affliction.

At least his nose was so full of mucus he didn’t stand a chance of smelling it. And he did not regret that. Because he wasn’t so pathetic hecraved a smell.

Peter was just standing there, thinking about... Alright, he was thinking about last night. But only to wonder if that pale bastard had managed to give him the plague and if it had been intentional.

Then he remembered where his phone probably was.

He sighed and pressed a palm against the space between his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. It didn’t work.

Feeling his strength beginning to fade, Peter shuffled over to the coat and groped at it’s so soft folds until he grasped the cold lines of his phone. Then, after a brief backtrack for the flask, he retreated back to the rumpled sanctuary of his bed.

He lay under the covers for a moment as his aching bones and muscles shivered.

Then he glanced at his phone screen.

Shit. Charlie was fussing.

Peter wasn’t one to ignore a call after ... Fuck, it was 3pm.

A quick call to Charlie got the kid to fuck off and stop bothering him. The last thing he needed was the kid storming in here to save him from some imagined beastie.

Then he saw a text that wasn’t Charlie.

That got both eyes open and Peter levering himself into something a bit more upright than a deathbed sprawl.

There was only one person ‘Magnificent Bastard ❤️’could possibly be.

The text itself was also a clue.

\- 😘-

Staring at his screen, all Peter could manage was a very tired, “Jesus... fucking... Christ.”

Then he unlocked his phone.

<why the hell is your info in my phone>

The response was almost immediate.

\- Good morning, Peter!-

<when did you even have a chance to do that>

\- I have many talents. -

< like being the death of me >

\- Only the little kind, I assure you. -

< *eye roll gif*>

< this is all your fault and I get come on’s instead of apologies >

\- What is my fault? -

< I have the plague! I am dying!>

\- I assume your messaging me through text rather than going to hospital means you have caught a chill. -

< I am dying! >

\- Of course, dear. -

< don’t of course me you bastard! Prepare to be fucking haunted when I kick it. Immortal no more, jackass >

\- An immortal with moderate entertainment guaranteed for eternity, you mean. I’m sure the ethereal plane would be very becoming on you, Peter. -

< fuck you >

Peter threw his phone down on the bed and hurled a pillow in a random direction. Then, exhausted, he slumped back on the bed and glared at the ceiling.

He was going to kill him. Next time he saw him he was going to stake him instead of stopping for a chat.

When did he even get ahold of his phone anyway. Last night? Or maybe when they went to that Italian place? Or was it the night he spotted Aro sitting on the front row of his show and the shock made Peter trip right off the stage. Fuck, it could have been any of those times as well as several others.

Peter woke with a start to the sound of the doorbell. Groaning into his pillow, he wondered how it was possible he felt even worse now. He flailed his arms feebly until he found his remote. He hit the right button on the third try.

“What,” He croaked. God, he sounded like the living dead. Appreciating the irony was a bit beyond him at the moment, however.

“Delivery for you, Mr. Vincent.”

Summoning his strength, he rolled onto his back and tried to remember if he had ordered anything. He was drawing a blank. Which certainly didn’t mean much.

“Mr. Vincent?”

“Hang on! Give me a moment.”

By the time he made it to the door, his legs were wobbling like noodles and his skin was clammy with sweat. He leaned against the entryway wall for a moment, trying to get his shivering under control, before he finally opened the door.

The delivery person, Haedi, according to her name tag, wasn’t holding a box. She was holding a basket. Peter wasn’t able to immediately identify the contents. But there was definitely tinsel. And a little Christmas tree ornament tied to the front.

“What the fuck?”

It was only when Haedi answered that Peter realized he’d technically asked a question.

“Delivery from a Mr. Nightingale for you. You are Mr. Vincent?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead, hoping his brains would wait for him to finish this conversation before they exploded out of his skull, “Yes. Yes, that’s me. You can just put it over there.”

Once Haedi was gone, Peter let his knees give out and flopped himself back into his chair. He spent a few futile moments with a box of tissues, trying to regain the ability to breath. And then gave up and reached into the basket.

After a moment of inspecting the contents he reached into his pocket and fished out his phone.

<did you send me soup?>

The response only took a few moments.

\- I suppose I assumed you consume things other than alcohol from time to time. -

< its in a basket. there’s tinsel.>

\- It’s festive!-

Peter groaned and dropped his phone back into the pocket of his robe and dug around in the basket. He was definitely frowning when his phone buzzed and he dug it out again.

\- Make sure and eat the soup while it’s warm.-

He rolled his eyes.

< if this is a care package to get me well and not an incredibly lame assassination attempt, why isn’t there any NyQuil?>

<Painkillers? Cocaine? More alcohol? >

<All this basket has is soup tea fruit and the poshest fucking tissues I’ve ever seen.>

<Do better and bring me something actually useful next time>

The vampire typed for a long time.

But then all that was sent was: - Just a moment-

Peter sighed and slumped back in the chair. He pulled the soup container out of the basket and cracked the lid a bit. Sniffed. Ok, so he attempted to sniff. And then closed the soup back up and dropped it back in the basket. He eyed the box of tea with a bit of longing, but knew he did not have the energy to actually make it right then.

So, even more exhausted than before, Peter wrangled the tissue box out of its tinsel cocoon and levered himself back to his feet.

Then he began shuffling back into his bedroom.

He didn’t notice the figure standing in the entryway.

“Hello, Peter.”

Peter shrieked and flung the tissue box at the figure’s head.

Aro plucked it deftly from the air and smiled at him, stepping into the room.

“Remarkable reflexes, my dear. You have been practicing.”

Peter slumped back against the wall, long limbs reaching out along it to stop him crumbling into a pile on the floor. He blinked at the spots in his eyes as his heart flailed in his chest.

“Oh my,” Aro said, tilting his head slightly, “That is ... you are rather sick.”

“Shut up,” Peter gasped, “And stop listening to my heart, creep.”

“Its very loud.”

“I know! Because some stupid bastard almost gave me a heart attack,” Peter found his second wind by shouting, a strange alchemy he wasn’t going to question, and pushed off the wall, “How did you even get in here. And its the middle of the day.”

Then he glanced at the windows, and the rare grey clouds, “Shit. Get out!”

“But you need tending.”

“Tending?” Peter squawked, wheeling shakily, “Tending?”

Then he gave a wheezing approximation of a laugh, coughing a little, “If I needed tending, I’d be better off calling for rabid bears. What the fuck are you planning to do? Tuck me in? Feed me soup?”

Then Aro’s eyes glittered and his smile spread even further, drawing Peter up very quickly into a very uneasy feeling.

He spent another breath making a quick study of that look.

Then he turned to flee.

Peter had managed about three unsteady steps, he attempt at a run toward the bedroom, when he caught his shoulder on the doorframe and toppled toward the hard marble floor.

Cold, immovable arms were suddenly beneath him before he could hit the ground, lifting him up and curling him against a broad chest. Peter thought about flailing, twisting toward freedom and perhaps a shred of his dignity. But then he glanced up. Into the red eyes dancing with mischief. And, for a very brief moment, he perhaps forgot how to breath.

The vampire was smiling. And holding him as gently as if he were a cloud.

“Yes, Peter,” Aro said, bearing quite a few teeth as he spoke, “That is exactly what I plan to do.”

Peter stared at all of those shining white teeth for a moment. Then he growled and shoved at Aro’s shoulders, “Fuck. Put me down. I can walk, damn you. And I’m not drinking any fucking soup!”

Aro just laughed a high, delighted laugh as he walked them into the bedroom, the basket swinging from the crook of one arm.

It was not long after Aro teased some soup and tea into Peter, that the slender man finally nodded off. He’d fought the falling of his eyelids with all of his strength.

“You’re not staying here. You’ve done your torture. Time to leave.”

“It’s just soup, you delicate thing.”

“Delicate! Bring me a stake and I’ll show you delicate...”

“Really, Peter. We are far past all of that.”

“Never...”

Aro had avidly watched the angry creases between his brows deepen as the man slumped back into his pillows to lie defeated by a moderately full belly.

Truly, Aro quite suspected Peter’s nutritional needs were not being met. Falling this ill from one evening out in the cold. Atrocious.

Aro pulled the coverlet up closer to Peter’s chin, smirking as he tucked the man in. It was a shame Peter wasn’t conscious to witness and whine about it. Once he was certain his human was warm enough, Aro settled on the edge of the bed. Listening to the sounds of the wind against the windows, the movements of the other humans in the building. Like the rustling of doves in a cote. All of their little hearts going so quickly as they fussed about their lives. It was exciting and relaxing at once somehow, to Aro. The prey instinct alert, mildly interested in the hunt, but the rest of him just enjoying their proximity. As if he were watching fish in an aquarium.

“Not happening,” Peter murmured. Aro’s eyes flashed back to Peter’s face.

He was still asleep. Aro could hear his heart, the gentle evenness of his breathing. Oh, bless, he was sleep talking.

Aro beamed at his sleeping human as Peter’s head turned a little and that precious frown returned.

“They can’t,” Peter said, “You can’t. Please. Don’t kill them.”

Aro leaned in a bit, smile guttering into a frown of his own as he heard the man’s heart thump much louder. That did not sound conducive to healing. Then the aroma of fear and pain began to rise from Peter’s skin, almost masking the curling scent of his sickness.

“Please,” Peter whimpered, “Don’t.”

Aro was as much a fan of beautiful begging as the next creature. But that was a treat for another time entirely.

He reached out toward Peter’s hand. Then he paused in thought and reached into his pocket, retrieving his gloves. He slipped them onto his hands. And then he reached for Peter’s brow.

“There, Peter,” he said, “You are alright.”

Peter grew still beneath his hand as Aro stroked his brow. Brushed his sweaty hair back from his clammy skin, all the while murmuring in a deep rumble that he knew Peter enjoyed.

Soon, Peter settled in the blankets and the scents of fear and pain ceased. Aro touched him gently for a while longer, intent on banishing the last of the dark dream from his mind.

And finally, he pulled his hand back and settled into place at Peter’s side.

The world moved on around them as Aro listened to the resting beat of Peter’s heart and sank deep into memories as sharp and old as starlight.

Peter woke with pain in his throat and head. And he still felt like absolute shit. But nothing as bad as it had been before.

Still curled into the last wisps of sleep, Peter slowly opened his eyes.

And immediately found the vampire sitting in one of the chairs that belonged in the living room but was currently planted at the end of his bed. And Aro was reading one of his books. One of the expensive, ancient ones. From the locked glass cases.

Of fucking course.

But Peter didn’t seem to have the energy to be truly irritated about it. If anyone knew how to not damage it, it was this moth-eaten relic.

Of course that description wasn’t exactly the most accurate description of the vampire just then. He sat in the highbacked chair like a prince posing for a portrait, free hand draped delicately over a chair arm. One bespoke clad leg crossed over the other, expensive shoe shinning like it had just come off the shelf. Dark hair falling over his shoulders, its waves catching what little light there was in the room and shining with it.

Beautiful fucking bastard.

Peter glanced at the windows, the light peaking in at their edges looking a bit like mid afternoon with the overcast.

“I don’t think those clouds will last,” Peter said, voice still raspy with sleep, “You’ll want to sod off before they clear. Or you’ll be stuck here all day.”

“Well,” Aro said, smiling and not looking up from his reading, “There are worse things, certainly.”

Peter snorted.

“Oh, come off it. Name one thing that would be worse than spending the day listening to my whining.”

“Well...” Aro replied, “I could go immerse myself in holy water.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Or perhaps, I could accidentally consume mint ice cream at some point.”

A surprised squawk erupted from Peter that quickly descended into breathless scoffs, “Mint ice cream? Really?”

Aro shifted in his chair and failed to hide his own amusement as he glanced at Peter, “It is completely loathsome.”

Peter kicked off the blanket, laughed a very congested laugh, “The next time we hang out I’m going to find a way to see that.”

“Hang out?” Aro said. Then he blinked, “The next time?”

Peter shot up in the bed, dark hair wild, “I didn’t mean it. Shut up.”

”Come now, Peter.”

”I’m on my death bed and you’re going to read into my rambling. You are one desperate jackass.”

Then, red from his chest to his ears, Peter grabbed the covers and retreated beneath them, whispering a very vehement, “Fuck!” to his pillow that Aro did not fail to hear.

In a blink, Aro was standing beside the bed again, effortlessly relocating the heavy black armchair to the space beside the bed with cheerful exactness. Then he sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and placed his hands elegantly on his knee. The book was nowhere in sight.

Peter growled at him from under the blanket, “Leave me alone, you hateful bastard. I am deathly ill.”

“Oh, you poor dear,” Aro said, stroking a hand down the silk covers. Peter lay very very still beneath that hand, “I have treated you so terribly. Considering your condition.”

Peter sniffled and coughed before he mumbled,“Yes you have... Jackass.”

“Let me make it up to you,” Aro said, “I am going to go make tea. When I return, we’ll do whatever you want to do.”

Peter pulled the covers down enough to reveal his glare, “Then get on with it.”

Aro cooed at him and then rose from the chair, “I won’t be long.”

Once he was gone, Peter scooted out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. While he was pissing, he glanced at himself in the mirror and opted for a shower.

Which turned out to be a marvelous idea as he felt much more human afterword. And there wasn’t anything quite like a vampire houseguest that would not leave to make a sick, unwashed person feel even more like roadkill than they already might.

Making a quick detour out of the bathroom and towards his closet for the clean clothes he’d forgotten to grab, Peter almost dropped his towel when a voice called from the living room.

“Move quickly dear. The tea is almost done.”

Peter disappeared into his closet in an instant and slammed the door.

The vampire had probably waited for him to finish his shower before starting the tea. Fucking annoying thoughtful bastard.

When Peter emerged from the closet in his comfiest black silk pajamas, Aro was sitting in the black chair and not even pretending he wasn’t looking him over.

“Shut up. And stop that,” Peter commanded as he stomped over to the bed and crawled in, “We are going to watch a movie and you are not going to be annoying.”

Aro giggled and waited for Peter to get his blankets in order before handing over the tea, “I am not annoying, Peter. I simply have class. Which you are apparently allergic to.”

That made Peter laugh. And almost choke on his tea, “Class? You still murder humans on the regular!”

Aro hummed.

“Mostly the very very bad ones now. There are so many to choose from. I’m a bit of a monster hunter myself, these days.”

Peter blinked at him, “Let’s pretend for a beat that I don’t think you are a complete liar. You? A vigilante for humans.”

Aro smiled and settled back in his chair, “It’s perfectly practical. Humans are... my preferred diet and I need to eat.”

”I mean, sure,” Peter said, rolling his eyes, “Sometimes you just have to murder helpless people. Have that problem all the time.”

Aro gave a very patient sigh, ”I also intend to live for a very very long time and there are ... certain individuals intent on quickly denying me the planet I prefer to live on for the remainder of my immortality.”

Peter laughed again, “You telling me you’re eating politicians and CEOs.”

Aro smiled.

Peter grunted, and looked away from that smile very quickly, thinking of a few absolutely worthless twats he’d heard about in the news, “Alright. Carry on then.”

Aro nodded his head as Peter reached for his remote, “Why thank you.”

Peter flicked through his options on the tv and took another sip of his tea.

“I want popcorn,” Peter said, glancing over at Aro.

Aro snorted, “I’m a vampire. Not a fetching hound.”

“But you brought me tea.”

“Yes,” Aro said, rising from his chair, “And with how sore your throat smells, you are going to be eating soup instead of popcorn.”

“Smells?!”

Aro paused in the doorway, “It smells inflamed. And I can hear your sinuses draining.”

“Oh Jesus fucking baby Christ in a blanket, I did not need to know any of that,” Peter said, burying his face in his hands.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Embarrassment is exactly why you said it and you know it. Why do you even stick around if you can pick up on all of that, you sick bastard.”

“Mm,” Aro said, “There’s quite a bit more your body is doing. It’s like listening to a forest in spring. The constant noise is good for my nerves.”

“Nooo. That’s disgusting,” Peter moaned into his pillow.

“Perhaps.”

“Your death will be slow and painful. And you will be wearing the most hideous outfit I can come up with,” Peter groaned, “I never did anything to deserve this torment.”

Aro grinned rather sadistically as he left Peter to writhe dramatically in his blankets and die a mortified death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a self indulgent fic, guys. I just... I am shameless. Thank you for reading and commenting! Its so great to hear from everyone. You guys are so fun to write for!


	3. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aro shows up in the middle of a hunt and Peter knows trouble when he sees it. Not that Peter as any idea what to do with it once he spots it. But Aro is full of suggestions as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I bring another offering to you darlings and I hope that you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I am amenable to prompts and requests if anyone has any. Though my muse is fickle at the best of times. So if I don’t manage the prompt you gave exactly, please know that your prompts and comments definitely helped me write whatever I came up with.

Half a dozen hallways leading off the creature’s chosen route and of course Peter accidentally ran into one that contained a pool of ankle deep water. Luckily, the creature didn’t have amazing hearing. Eyesight was pretty intimidating though. Which was why Peter hurried through the pool to get deeper into the passage.

He was panting, trying to get his breath back as he sloshed out of the pool and back onto dry stone. His shoes squished and he grimaced. Ugh, that felt disgusting. And who knew what that water had been full of.

But he didn’t do anything about the shoes. Couldn’t really. So he stood there and caught his breath, trying not to worry about how shaken his legs were. They’d had to run all the way down here to get ahead of it before it noticed them. And Peter definitely wasn’t as young as he used to be.

The thing they were hunting had been plenty to inspire a bit of a sprint though. 

And a good thing they managed it, because this thing had left a string of corpses behind it and the only thing they could find on it was that it was local and also killable by fire. But it had to be a lot of fire. And it had to be in its lair.

Their trap was set. Peter was in a narrow side passage littered with rubble in places, with just enough space for him to squeeze through in a pinch. Amy and Charlie were tucked away in their own side passages along other routes into the central chamber. Less likely it would get them all.

Someone had be free to set the fire when the time came.

Peter stared at the main passage of the ruins, the water running in deep pools to either side of the path and slime stained wall on its opposite side. The stink of green things growing in the damp. Thin, weak lines of light barely reached through cracks in the crumbling masonry from the surface.

And certainly not least, the deep trough cutting through the stone from untold years of something very big with very intimidating claws walking this path. Returning to its den to sleep off its last meal.

Amy had been calling it Big Bird.

Which Peter hadn’t liked. At all.

Because the only similarity it had to the character was the feathers. Alright, and perhaps the voice. But Peter wasn’t about to admit that to Amy. He was already working very hard to forget this entire week had ever happened.

He almost missed the days when they thought vampires were the only thing out there to worry about.

A soft, distant murmur of sound echoed from down the tunnel. Maybe just a rat. He’d seen a few on the way down.

“Where is all this water coming from, I wonder.”

Peter just barely manages to not fall out of the alcove at the sound of that voice. Not because he didn’t squawk in terror and jump clear off the floor. But because a pale hand had reached out of the gloom and closed firmly around a fistful of his shirt. Stopping him immediately, mid fall.

Peter gasped and closed his hands over that cold wrist, “Fffuck. What the hell.”

Aro grinned that guileless grin of his, as if he were overjoyed to see Peter again. Like he hadn’t just been kidnapping Peter’s eBay packages for attention again just last week.

“Hello, Peter,” Aro said, happily.

“‘Hello, Peter’?” Peter hissed in disbelief, “Are you fucking kidding! I am going to filet you with a chair leg the second I get home. You bastard, you almost killed me.”

Aro scoffed, “Unlikely. You’re passably resilient, my dear.”

“Oh, passably, is it? Don’t hurt yourself trying too hard with the flattery.Now, let me up. You’re shredding my shirt with your hideous talons.”

Aro pulls back his arm, reining Peter back onto his feet. Then Peter shoves at the cold wrist and the hand releases its grip easily.

“Oh, I haven’t damaged your attire. I came prepared.”

Then he held up one hand with an elegant twist of his wrist and extended it to Peter.

Peter took an instinctive step back, but then he actually looked down at the hand and scowled.

“Gloves? Its ninety degrees outside. What exactly did you come prepared for. Boxing?”

Aro’s face slipped on something a little more smug and his hand fell back to his side, “Hm, I suppose we’ll just wait and see. But you really didn’t think I’d been wearing gloves all this time for the temperature, did you Peter?”

Peter just scowled at him.

“Tell me,” Aro said, “Why is it you usually go on holiday to the tropics when you prefer a more temperate climate?”

“What? No, don’t care. Forget I asked.”

“But-“

“No. Shut up. No. Not playing twenty questions with you, vampire.This is the opposite of the right time.”

“Hm... so if I go kill the unicorn for you, you’ll speak to me?”

“The what?!”

Aro blinked at him, “The...”

There was a pause.

Then Aro reached out into the open air between them for a moment, “Oh. Oh, you darling dear.”

Peter startled back as the vampire released a soft, breathy giggle.

And then kept on laughing.

“Shut up, you mad wanker. You’re going to bring it down on us.”

The vampire’s laughter slipped into a sigh with relish. A pale hand stroked down Peter’s chest like he was petting a beloved dog.

“No dear, I won’t. You underestimate this species’ difficulty with hearing around still water by an order of magnitude,” he struggled to hold something in for a bit. Failed. His face spilt into a grin as he snickered,”Because you came all the way down here to kill it and you had no idea what it was.”

Peter ground his teeth as the vampire burst into giggles again. Struggling to keep his voice down.

“Shut up. It’s not a unicorn. You’re having me on. It’s... it’s got feathers, for Christ’s sake!”

Aro placed his gloved hands delicately over his face and shakes his head, pained giggling moans only mostly restrained.

“Fuck off!”Peter snapped, “There’s no way it’s a... Really?”

Aro finally seemed to get a handle on himself and pressed a hand to his chest, “I’m sorry, my dear. That was just. Gods, you’re so unbelievably brave.”

“Oi! Stop calling me that when we both know that you mean I’m an idiot.”

Aro made a little noncommittal sound, spreading his hands, “It’s a sign of my unending affection for you that I choose a different term.”

“Yeah, don’t do me any favors.”

“You have but to ask to receive my... favors.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Let me get back to you on that.”

Aro said things like this from time to time. And Peter’s experience with vampires said that it was just as likely to be a serious offer rather than a joke.

Which was... disgusting. It was disgusting.

What Peter had ever done to deserve this torment was beyond him.

Alright, maybe a few truly shitty moments came to mind.

Peter glanced back at that hall behind them, listening. He couldn’t hear anything. Was it possible that the other two hadn’t heard them? They’d been arguing like two kids hiding from the teacher. Christ, he couldn’t imagine how mortifying it would be to have the kids catch him talking to this twat. Aro had been pestering him for some time now and somehow Peter had managed to keep it a secret up to this point.

And he already knew he would do quite a lot to keep it that way. Not that he’d had to do much so far. The vampire didn’t seem interested in falling on Amy and Charley’s radars either.

So far.

Peter heard the soft click of a shoe against stone behind him and turned back to find Aro delicately picking his way to a segment of collapsed pillar . He turned and settled onto it as if it were a courtly throne, a content smile on his red lips.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter squawked, “You had your fun. My evening is now thoroughly ruined. You can sod off now. Go be a creepy murdering psycho somewhere else.”

Aro frowned in mock disappointment, “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What? What question.”

“Why the tropics when you prefer a cooler climate. I can understand living in the middle of this desert, since your... theatrical skills are well suited for this particular market. But why go somewhere you don’t enjoy during your leisure hours.”

“Why? Fuck you, that’s why.”

Aro sighed and crossed one leg over the other, setting his wrists delicately atop one knee.

Then Aro grinned, “Your eyes are such a lovely deep brown.”

“There have to be other horrible things for you to be doing tonight. Other people to torment. Why the fuck are you here.”

“I’m visiting you.”

“No. You’re not.”

Aro spreads his arms and looks around pointedly.

“Alright, shut up. You’re also doing something else.”

Aro blinks his eyes owlishly.

“I wonder...” Aro says with a smug little smile.

Peter snorted as quietly as possible, “Oh my god, mystery. You’ve got about as much mystery to you as a hammer. Because you’re here to cause trouble, same as always and be a pain in my arse while you’re at it.”

Aro made a considering noise and tilted his head a bit.

Peter narrowed his eyes, “Get lost.”

“I don’t want to.”

Peter glances back at the hallway leading to the trap. Charley and Amy were too far to signal for help without also signaling the ... creature they were hunting, whatever it might be.

Which is well enough. They couldn’t do anything more than die with him anyway.

If the prick has finally decided to get it over with already.

All of this headache and not a drop of alcohol in his body. It had been a long hunt for the ... unicorn. And this conversation was the worst of it.

“You know, I own a lovely estate in the Black Forest in Germany. We could take a week or two. Hike the Feldberg. You would love it.”

Peter snarls and spins around, striding to the vampire, “Look you snowy white utter bastard. I don’t know what you are after. But I am not going to play your games. I have a job to do. And you are wasting my time.”

Peter leans down until his face is close to the vampire’s, “So why don’t you do what you came here to do and stop wasting my time.”

Aro’s eyes widen, the pupils visibly dilating, even in the gloom of the ruins. A grin tries to overtake his face for a moment, like a whale rising from the depths but only barely brushing against the surface. Then it sinks again and what is left is a solemn, unblinking stare that runs a shiver down Peter’s spine.

It should be a full blown urge to run.

But you can only accept a monster’s coat on a cold, snowy night so many times before you crave answers more than the illusion of safety.

Peter should be surprised when the vampire touches his cheek with a gloved hand. A part of him is.

But the larger part clenches his teeth and hisses, “Come on, you bastard.”

Aro answers with a deep rumbling growl.

The leather of his gloves is soft and smooth against Peter’s cheek. Gentle as a breath.

Peter is not gentle in return.

He snaps a hand to the back of the vampire’s neck. Reels the vampire against him with it. Slides his mouth against those cold, full lips. Breathes in the gorgeous smell of him.

Then someone moans.

And suddenly the vampire is leaning smoothly, willingly back before an onslaught of passion Peter does not recognize or care to analyze.

His other hand is caught in that wealth of thick, dark hair. Cradling Aro’s skull, guiding it to move how he wants. How he needs in order to slot against that maddening mouth.

He’s so cold beneath his hands, this monster. Cold as stone and the dark, empty sky. But Peter doesn’t care. Not now.

He has enough heat for the both of them.

He bites at the vampire’s lips. Slides his tongue inside an open welcoming mouth. Growls as Aro’s tongue meets his.

One of Aro’s hands barely touch the muscle above Peter’s hip. A barely there touch that has Peter crawling into his lap and tightening his hold in the vampire’s so soft hair.

He tugs and Aro’s head moves with the motion, pulling their lips apart. Aro gasps, lips red and eyes full of something dark and warm.

Somehow those eyes are what drive Peter beyond madness. The world doesn’t make sense. No sense at all and his body is beginning to burn as if there is a fire at his back, driving him against the monster of night and winter chill between his legs.

Peter’s hips shift against Aro, and Aro groans at the movement. His deep red eyes close and Peter hisses at the buzz of the vampire’s enjoyment. At the way his spine arches his body against Peter’s, offering himself.

“That’s it,” Peter hears himself whisper, “That’s it.”

And then he’s pulling the vampire back into him, pouring his heat and his anger into the kiss.

And Aro takes it. Opens up and touches Peter’s sides with soft, barely there touches.

Christ, he feels like agony, Peter thinks deliriously.

He writhes against Aro’s body, slithering closer and twisting his grip in Aro’s hair and baring his throat to Peter’s flashing teeth.

Then something drifts through the dark beside Peter’s eye, bright and orange as a cinder in the hot air. Peter pulls his tongue back from the cool, smooth skin below Aro’s jaw where his teeth have just failed to leave a mark. He lifts his head as another light sweeps past his vision.

He watches the glowing spark disappear into the dark and feels the roaring furnace at his back.

And the vibration of his ringing phone in the pocket of his jeans.

“Shit,” He breathes, twisting around to look behind.

At the hallway, and the wall of flame it has become, waves of hot air buffeting his skin and ruffling his hair.

The trap. The beast.

“Shit!”

He moves to rise, but Aro’s gloves are still barely brushing his sides, and Peter doesn’t quite rise so much as lean back enough to get a hand into his pocket. Aro is staring up at him, and Peter opts to ignore him rather than discover what expression is on the vampire’s face. Probably something mocking and smug. He’s seen enough of that to have it memorized.

“Charley, are you alright!”

“What the fuck, man. Where are you!” Charley’s voice is tight with fear barely masked as irritation.

“Fine. Fine. Everything’s...” He makes the mistake of looking down at Aro just then. And immediately scoots off the vampire’s lap and staggers to his feet, physically jolted by the expression on Aro’s face. It was ... something. And he had no clue what exactly that something was.

“Peter? Hello?” Charley calls in his ear.

Peter runs his free hand over his chest and stammers, “I’m. I’m fine. Just got a bit of smoke when it all went up. All fine though. Great job, that, killing the... thing. Lovely. So, there is something I need to take care of. Private stuff. So don’t ask about it and go on without me. I’ll call you tomorrow. Night.”

And then he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared down at it as he hung up. His hand was shaking. As was the rest of him. Jitters. Like he’d just walked away from a car crash.

“Private... stuff?” Aro said, voice smooth as a snake’s belly.

“You would assume I meant you, fucking bloody narcissist,” Peter sighed, still staring at his phone as the screen went dark in his hand.

“After the feast you just bestowed upon me?” Aro replied, “How could I not dare to hope.”

It didn’t escape Peter’s notice that Aro hadn’t moved from where Peter had left him. He didn’t look up at him then, but the vision of Aro’s expression of only a moment before felt nailed to the back of his eyes.

A red mouthed vampire, hair mussed, collar disheveled. Posture open and welcoming in the light of the slowly fading fire as he waited for something from Peter.

What he was waiting for Peter to give him was at once all too terrifyingly clear and so dangerously ambiguous.

“Shit. And not a drop of alcohol in me. Fucking hell!”

“You haven’t been truly sober for decades,” Aro said, “At this point it’s possible your tissues are a bit saturated.”

“Bastard’s older than the dinosaurs and he still has no idea how anything works. Look, you need to leave.”

“Peter,” Aro said.

Suddenly banishing his phone back to his pocket, Peter snapped, “Stop it. Don’t do that.”

“I don’t understand.”

That drew Peter’s eyes up and he snorted, “Oh come on.”

Aro just stared at him. Sat where Peter had left him. And stared.

“Really?” Peter said, voice shrill with a pressure that was building in his chest, “You, in all your immortal wisdom can’t manage to detect what I mean?”

His arms were out at his sides, something like laughter in his voice.

“What the fuck were you even doing for all of those millennia. I mean this! This isn’t happening. Whatever the fuck it is.”

Aro opened his mouth to speak but Peter jabbed a finger at him, “No. This?” He turned to step aside so that Aro could better see the flames behind him, “This is what I do. This is what I like to do. And oh, Christ, do I enjoy it. Putting sick, murdering bastards like you to the torch. Watching you crumble into little piles of ash that no one is ever going to find. Or care about.”

That thing was thrashing in Peter’s chest now and he could not control it.

He turned again so that he was squared with the vampire sitting there silently.

“What are you doing. Here. With me,” Peter asked, “Do you even know?”

There was no answer from Aro.

“Because I have an idea, Aro. I have a very good idea of what you are doing.”

The fire had almost completely died down now. And somewhere down that passage was the crispy corpse something that might have once been a unicorn.

Peter choked down something painful in his throat and hissed through his teeth at Aro, “So here’s my answer. Fuck. Off. Don’t ever touch me again. Or, fucking bloody Christ, I will put a stake through your heart.”

Aro’s face was a blank mask Peter could barely see in the growing dark as the fires finally began to snuff out one by one.

But there was still enough to see him. To watch him silently studying Peter.

“Very well, Peter,” Aro said, voice smooth and oddly flat, “I...”

His voice drifts away. Peter waits for the rest of it.

But then he blinks.

And he is staring at an empty passage in an abandoned ruin. The water they had been standing in was as mirror smooth as if the ancient vampire had never stood there.

“Shit,” Peter says, feeling a chill seeping out of the stones now that the fires have died.

He looked around. At the stones, the scorch marks painting some of them. The dried, dead algae flaking off as white and black ash.

Then he realized he’d been studying the piece of crumbling masonry in front of him. The chunk of rock that had, so briefly, been the throne of a creature. A creature who glowed against the fabric of his memory like a naked florescent bulb.

“Shit.”

He would forget. Move on and not think about it. Him.

Peter could do that.

Peter was good at forgetting.


	4. First Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Peter met Aro, the first time he met him and actually remembered it the next day, and the first time Aro actually introduces himself properly (or attempts to). These are not the same event, unfortunately.

It was too bright here.

Peter wasn’t too steady on exactly where here was, but it wasn’t his usual place and it had so many lights. Too many. They were bloody everywhere.

He hadn’t started drinking here. He was fairly certain. He wouldn’t have wasted his time intentionally coming to a place that watered their drinks down to thin piss like this. This was fucking disgusting.

Peter tipped back and finished the rest of what was in his glass.

He would be better off dragging himself home and continuing this from there. He had much better stuff there.

Nothing like this shit.

But then he’d be right back where he started.

In his apartment. Ghosts pressing in so tight he couldn’t breath.

Fuck those ghosts. Never did a thing for him. Nothing but screams in the night, the lot of them.

He’d go home and they’d be waiting for him. In his pillow. In the walls. He needed to find someone. Someone to sleep there with him. Hadn’t had someone stay in regular for a while. Ginger might. If he toned back being complete shit to her.

Then he could just go to sleep at night instead of ending up in a shitty sci-fi set like this neon shithole.

“That’s a good idea. You’ve had a long night. I’ll call you a cab,” someone said.

Peter turned and looked over his shoulder, trying to find who was talking. There were a few people sitting at the tables. A few more walking around. No one looking at him.

“Hey,” the voice again, “You should call it a night, man. You look dead on your feet.”

Peter turned around and glared at the kid behind the bar. Finally, the wanker that was talking.

“I...” Peter said, setting his glass on the wood, “Am not on my feet. I am sitting down. So fuck you.”

“Okay...” the kid said.

“I’m sitting. And I’m not calling it a night. Because I don’t want to.”

The bartender didn’t say anything to that. But suddenly there was a water bottle on the bar directly beneath Peter’s nose.

“We’re closing soon anyway,” the kid said when Peter dragged is eyes up to him in confusion, “And you’ve had enough.”

Peter scoffed, “Am I unconscious on the floor? What, you think I came to your shitty bar because I ...”

Someone walked past the kid, completely distracting Peter. Because she had a great ass.

Not quite as great as Ginger’s, but definitely not bad.

“Alright, well, I’m going to leave you and the water here to think about that and then check up in a bit.”

Peter wrapped his hands around the water bottle and frowned. That kid was NOT old enough to work here. He was sure of it.

“Check up in a bit,” Peter scoffed to the water, “Why thank you, nurse.”

After a while of glaring at the fucking purple halogen bulbs behind the shelves of glistening glass bottles, Peter realized he had to piss.

“I have to piss,” he told no one. And then staggered off of the stool and made his way to the bathroom without incident. He wasn’t that drunk. Barely had anything tonight. It was just that he was so tired and the floor kept shuffling around beneath his feet.

It was the getting out of the bathroom that was the issue.

Because some idiot hit him in the middle of his face with the door.

Peter staggered, reached up for the flare of pain erupting from his nose and closed his eyes.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass.”

Peter’s eyes peeled open to mere slits. It was so fucking bright in here. And the dark, glaring figure of his attacker was looming in the door. He was tall and white and had thickly muscled arms coming out of a simple grey t shirt.

And the sight of him made all of the air in Peter’s chest rush up into his throat to choke him.

“No,” Peter said, “Get the fuck away from me!”

He could taste blood. His blood. Draining from his throbbing nose. The smell of it. Anyone could smell it. Could find him.

You had a kid, a voice like rasping iron curling around dad’s begging whimpers, I know you had a kid. Tell me where.

Peter wasn’t in the bathroom anymore. Had shoved past the man blocking the door. People were staring at him as he staggered. Looked down. There was a chair. Who’d put that there?

“Hey, asshole! You think I’m going to let you get away with that?”

He turned. Grey shirt man was coming after him.

Peter threw his punch while he still could.

And hit nothing but air.

Then pain bloomed in his jaw like a firework. Light. So much fucking light. He couldn’t see.

Then he was lying on the sticky bar floor and feet were walking past his nose. Like he wasn’t there. Like he was a ghost.

Peter didn’t try to get up. Not for a long time. The floor was cool against his skin and the world was spinning so fast.

Something was hurting his back. A low, throbbing ache. But he didn’t move. Didn’t shift.

Didn’t make a sound.

He couldn’t feel his hands, his arms. They were wrapped so tight around his legs. His toes hurt where they were crammed against the edge of his hiding place. But not so bad.

They were far away. All the way at the other end of his body that stretched on for miles in the dark and the quiet.

It wouldn’t find him here.

Quiet. Quiet.

Mum said be quiet.

Peter jolted awake and gasped in dry desert air.

Then he groaned and winced.

Fuck his whole body hurt. Like he’d gone a round with a slab of concrete. His joints ached. His head was pounding. And his jaw, Christ what had happened to his jaw.

He worked his tongue in his mouth. Tasted blood. And worse.

Cracking open an eyelid showed him a street that he recognized after a minute. A dull silver-blue sky edging toward dawn. A few cars driving by. Not much else.

He wasn’t that far from his apartment building. Couple blocks.

But it felt like a hundred miles just then.

He was so tired.

Letting his head fall back against the crumbling cinderblock wall behind him, Peter let his eyes fall closed again.

It wouldn’t be the first time he slept on a sidewalk.

The click of shoes walked by didn’t really register until the sound stopped.

“Move on, bastard,” Peter breathed, managing to put a sliver of menace into it, “I’ve got nothing.”

Whoever was standing there did not respond. Did not continue on their way.

Maybe they were holding a gun. Waiting for him to open his eyes, see it and piss himself with fear.

And maybe he would. Most days Peter was quite keen on not dying. But right now? Right now he just felt... exhausted.

And he didn’t care.

Not really.

Damn, that bastard had been standing there for a while. He could feel them. Watching him.

Peter opened one eye. Just enough to see the person was dressed in black. And had long dark hair falling past their shoulders.

A woman?

Opening the other eye revealed that, no, the person watching him probably wasn’t a woman.

But they were sorely in need of a trip to the beach. That was some unhealthily pale skin.

Peter already knew he wasn’t going to like this guy much.

“What the fuck do you want,” Peter spat.

“You are bleeding,” the man replied, voice smooth and calm as glass.

“Probably.”

There was a moment of silence where they watched each other.

“I would like to get you to your abode safely. I have a car parked just down the way.”

Peter snorted a laugh that he immediately regretted. What the fuck had happened to his nose.

“I am not getting in a car with you,” Peter said, “I am pissed. But... not that pissed.”

“Very well. That is ... sensible. Irritating. But sensible. Is there someone you might call? To come and gather you?”

“Gather?”

“To come and collect you. To take you home.”

“Home,” Peter echoed scornfully.

“Do you have a phone? To call your friends?”

Peter’s head wobbled a bit as he tried to see the man more clearly, “Do I look like a bloke with mates? Fuck off. Leave me be.”

He thought he heard the man mutter, “Gods, give me strength,” under his breath.

Then, “This street is about to become very unfriendly to someone like you. So you really should...”

“Oi,” Peter blurted, eyes fully opening, “What do you mean by that.”

The man looked a bit startled. And then he smiled, “I mean that you are a helpless drunkard and there are a few very nasty things in the area that I would rather not get their claws into you. Not until I decide what to do with you, anyway.”

“What?”

“Nothing to worry about. Now, are you going to wipe yourself off the floor or am I going to have to call the police?”

“Look,” Peter growled, scrambling to find the right leverage to escape the ground, “I’m just sitting here. It’s not illegal to just be sitting here.”

“Actually, you might find that it is,” the man said as Peter staggered to his feet. The man did not move out of Peter’s way. And as Peter crashed into the man, he caught a huge whiff of something delicious. Like fresh snow and Italian food and a long lazy mornings and the growl of an overpowered engine and... oh, Christ, that was amazing.

He only realized he was sprawled all over this stranger, taking long, hungry sniffs of him, when he heard the man give an answering sniff to Peter’s hair. Heard him take a single loud, deliberate swallow. Felt the brush of his cold nose against Peter’s ear.

“Oi, back off,” Peter said, tearing himself away from the man, “Creepy bastard. What are you going on about then? Think I’m going to get in your car. End up tied up somewhere? Fuck off. I’m going to call the police.”

The man sighed and glanced down the street, his head tilted like he was listening to something.

“Yes, please, do that if you’d like, but might we make that call while walking. I really have places to be.”

Then the man was poking sharp fingers into the small of Peter’s back to get him to move. Peter, head still swimming and pounding by turns, staggered under the half hearted assault.

“Wait!”

The poking stopped, a hand closing over Peter’s bicep to steady him, “I really am trying to help you. We aren’t far from where you live. I hope. Can you make it there on your own?”

Peter leaned into that grip and tried to pin down a thought.

But all he could think of was a cold bar floor and feet walking by without stopping.

“I...” Peter began. And then he decided to lie, “I don’t think I can. Get home. On my own. Need a spot of help.”

The man hummed, glancing down the street, “Well, then perhaps we should begin our journey. It is this way?”

And then a strong arm was wrapping around Peter’s shoulders, turning him, urging him forward. Peter just managed to get his limbs on task before he toppled onto his face.

“Its just... down the way here... and then over and then there,” Peter offered.

“Ah, its all so clear now,” the man said.

“What’s your name anyway,” Peter said as they walked.

“My name is... Alexander.”

“Wow,” Peter sniffed, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That’s a rubbish name.”

“Alexander?”

Peter snorted, “Complete rubbish.”

“It is a perfectly normal human name.”

Then Peter laughed, “This your first day on earth or something?”

The man’s eye roll was audible, “Hardly.”

“Alright, Alex,” Peter said, dragging out the name, “Well my name is Peter, since you didn’t bother asking. Rude.”

“Peter,” Alex said, as if he were tasting it for the first time, “Hello, Peter. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh yeah. I bet you say that to all the stinking drunks you carry home.”

“You hardly stink.”

“I do. I definitely do. I need a bath. And a whole bottle of drugs. Teeth could definitely use a scrub. And someone to take a look at my face. Think my jaw is broken.”

“It is not even remotely broken.”

“Oh, so now you’re a doctor? Did you X-ray me while I was unconscious. Now that is definitely illegal, unlike sitting, for your information.”

“Mm, my gratitude for clearing that up.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was nice, Peter thought, having someone walk home with him in the wee hours of the morning. Though he could feel, even through the fabric of his shirt, that this bastard had some fucking cold hands. Bad circulation, probably.

They were nearly to the end of the street when Peter asked, “What about my nose?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is it broken?”

“No. Be rest assured that it is not.”

“You talk very strangely. Like you’re in a movie. Did you just smell me?”

Peter staggered to a stop, looking down at the man in confusion. Alex stared at him unblinkingly, like an owl. An odd, well dressed owl. With very pretty dark eyes.

“No, of course not. That would be very strange. Come along. Is your home left or right here.”

Peter jabbed a thumb in the correct direction and then wandered that way, completely forgetting that he was pretending to need the man’s support to walk. But Alex didn’t leave. Instead he fell into step beside Peter.

“I drink a lot, you know,” Peter said, “Most of the time. Its a hobby.”

“Is that your only hobby?”

“Its the main one. Primary one. Biggest... I drink. And I fuck. And I buy weird shit on the internet. And I am a vampire expert.”

Alex was smiling now, “Are you really.”

“That’s right. I know everything there is to know about ‘em. I can tell you what they look like, sound like, where they come from. There’s different breeds of vampires. Did you know that?”

“No, really?” Alex said, fascinated.

Peter felt happy with the attention, “There’s vampires from all different continents. All these different kinds with different rules and different ways they hunt. Its a whole...a...”

“Yes?”

“Bloody hell, I forgot.”

Alex laughed, just a little. More of a giggle really.

“Such a shame. You seem very knowledgeable on the subject.”

Peter raised his chin proudly, “I am an expert.”

“Indeed,” Alex said, smiling, “How charming you are.”

“‘Course. That’s how I make the big bucks, you know. Show biz!” Peter said, throwing his arms out for emphasis, “Peter Vincent! And the magic of the occult!”

“Oh, you are a magician! How fascinating.”

“Yes, I am very fascinating,” Peter agreed as they walked by a very distracting led fountain in the shape of a pirate ship.

“Your wife must enjoy having such a famous partner.”

Peter spun around, walking backwards to face Alex, “Ach, no. A wife? Me? What a great steaming train wreck that would be. Hah! Can you imagine.”

Then he saw the building behind the man. The building they’d just passed.

“Woah,” Peter said, spinning around to look at where they were. Then he had to reach out and snag hold of his new friend to anchor himself before he toppled over.

He ended up toppling over a bit anyway. Luckily his new friend’s chest was there to prop him up.

“God, you smell amazing. What is that? Its like fresh bread and that little camp site up in the Rockies I visited... when was that... Christ. Was that really ten years ago?”

“Its perhaps my cologne,” Alex began. But then Peter nuzzled a bit at Alex’s throat and the man became very still. Even as drunk as he was, Peter was able to read a bit of body language.

He drew back, lifting his hands free, “Sorry. I didn’t...”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said, smile smug now, “I take it as a compliment. To my taste in cologne, at least.”

“At least,” Peter said, his eyes dropping down and making their leisurely way up his new friend, “Take it as a compliment to your tailor as well.”

Alex smiled, “Ah, you sweet creature. Feel free to compliment me as you like. I’m a rather vain thing, after all.”

Peter scoffed, “At least you have the bollocks to admit it. Not many people even realize how much they need to be told they’re pretty.”

“Oh, needing to be admired comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Alex said, drawing a hand through the crook of Peter’s elbow, “Now it’s getting toward morning and I think you need to get home to sleep this off.”

Peter leaned a bit into Alex, tried to focus on the mesmerizing darkness of his eyes, but the world was swimming, “You could... We could...” Peter paused to pull the thought together, “You want to come up?”

Alex’s smile dropped for a moment, expression quite beyond Peter’s current ability to translate. But Peter felt the weight of it.

And strangely, he suddenly felt a crawling, heart pounding urge to flee.

But he didn’t.

And then Aro was smiling again, “You have no idea how much I would enjoy accompanying you, Peter. But unfortunately I have business to attend today. Perhaps another time.”

Peter sighed but let Alex help him to the door of his building. However, Peter’s magician hands remained dexterous enough to slip his card stealthily into the pocket of Alex’s suit without being noticed. And he was still grinning as he staggered into the elevator.

Exhaustion from the long night had settled his bones by the time he reached his floor. But he’d made a new friend. And now he just wanted to go to sleep.

The guy across the room was staring and it was giving Peter a creeping case of the collywobbles. He needed another drink. Immediately.

He was at some sort of... publicity thing. Something about a museum. He hadn’t really paid attention. But he’d arrived on the stage over there earlier in a burst of smoke and fire and loud music, said something or other. And now it was just more loud music and dancing and alcohol all around.

Exactly Peter’s sort of scene.

But that creep wouldn’t stop staring.

Peter ordered up another drink at the bar and leaned there waiting for it. His business manager had already told him who the creep was. Some rich and powerful bastard who’d invested in Peter. She’d very clearly implied that the man was not someone Peter could throw out of the party.

His own party. And he couldn’t get rid of the guy who was ruining it.

Shit, maybe Peter could just leave. This was Vegas. There were several clubs he’d made many delightful memories in. Could go fuck off to one of those.

He was seriously contemplating it when his drink finally arrived.

Someone stepped up beside him, ordered a drink in a softly masculine voice.

Peter glanced over at him. Then he glanced again.

The man did not miss the scrutiny, flashing him a knowing glance.

But then he turned his quick smile to the bartender who’d immediately returned with his drink.

As the bartender walked away, the newcomer looked over at Peter with dark eyes and an expression that was at once smug and intense.

“You want to know how I convinced the bartender to bring my drink so promptly,” the man said, taking a delicate sip of said drink. Some sort of red wine. Peter hadn’t caught the name.

“Yeah, always take ages for me,” Peter said, shifting a bit against the counter, feeling restless.

The man hummed and took another sip. He stared at Peter for a moment and then glanced out into the crowd. The way his expression shifted had Peter glancing out as well.

God, that creep was still standing there.

He wasn’t looking at Peter now though. Instead he seemed to be glaring at the man standing next to Peter.

“You know that creepy shit?” Peter asked his new drinking companion.

“Hm?” The man replied, not breaking his staring contest with the man, “Oh no, not at all.”

Peter glanced between them for a moment and then scoffed, “Alright. Go on carving a hole in his skull then. I’ll just mind my own.”

The man’s attention finally returned to Peter at that. He didn’t know why he’d wanted it to. He’d just met the man, and he was more weird than attractive. But there it was.

“Ah, my sincerest apologies,” the man said, “You may call me Aro if it pleases you.”

Peter held out his hand, “Peter.”

The man was wearing gloves when he took Peter’s hand, the leather soft and cool against Peter’s skin.

“Such a pleasure,” Aro said with a smile.

Peter retrieved his hand. Christ, this bastard was ... alright he was definitely odd. The staring. The slow, careful way he spoke. The fact that that smile looked painfully practiced.

“If you don’t mind my inquiry,” Aro said carefully, “You wouldn’t happen to have a crucifix on you at this moment, would you?”

That shocked a laugh out of Peter, “What, you a fan? What sort of question is that?”

Aro’s head tilted just a little to the left, the smile unwavering, “Having met you, I am certainly becoming one.”

Peter made a few unintelligible noises he’d intended to be a response and took a swallow of his drink. Christ, those eyes. This was going to be such a bad idea.

“Yeah, alright,” Peter said after swallowing, “I do have one on.”

Aro nodded, held out his hand, “I would very much like to see it, if you would permit.”

Peter snorted, shifting about helplessly as he reached into his half unbuttoned black shirt for his tangle of necklaces hanging there. He’d come somewhat in costume. Tight black pants, flowing black silk shirt and a long black coat. It was what people expected for something like this.

When he pulled out the necklace, bare fingers immediately reached out to touch. For some reason Aro had removed his glove to inspect it.

“Oh, this is quite old, isn’t it.”

Peter tried not to grin at the admiration in the other man’s voice, “Origin as old as crusades. Can’t find the actual make unfortunately.”

“I think I might be able to help you with that.”

Peter gave Aro another look over, raising his brows, “You reallyare a fan, aren’t you.”

Aro’s smile slipped into something a bit more like the smirk he’d arrived with and he took a sip of his drink.

“You and I have similar hobbies, Peter. I also have a fondness for things of the past.”

Peter could not contain his smile at all at this point, but before he could ask a question, Aro dropped the crucifix, letting it fall back to Peter’s chest. He was looking out in the crowd again. Peter followed his eye.

The creepy man across the room wasn’t there any longer. Weird how unsettling that seemed just then. Peter glanced over the crowd. He couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Thank you for showing that to me. We’ll have to meet for tea sometime,” Aro said, not looking at Peter as he stepped away from the bar.

“Oi!” Peter called just as Aro disappeared slipped into the press of bodies and was gone.

Peter stared at the milling crowd in disbelief. What had that been about?

Well, it was obvious now that it hadn’t been what Peter had hoped it was. And he wasn’t in the mood to find someone else for the night. He’d much rather have been shagging a handsome stranger tonight than drinking until he was too drunk to remember the nightmares.

Scowling into his glass, Peter gulped the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the bar.

“Bastard.”

Peter had a new rule to prevent him from dying horribly.

Never ever listen to Charlie when he started talking. Because when Charlie started talking, he inevitably said things like, “There’s a vampire living beneath this casino” and “Peter, people are dying” and “I’m going to go down there and stop it, even if I have to go alone”.

Charlie going alone hadn’t even been an issue as Amy had been standing right there giving Peter a very disappointed look.

The look might have been more responsible for Peter’s current state than Charlie’s talking, now that Peter thought about it.

And Peter’s current state was definitely edging up on a heart attack. Because the moment he’d caved like a bridge of cards, Charlie had led them all down into an actual catacomb beneath a Vegas casino.

Bloody hell.

And it hadn’t taken Peter long to fall through a hole in the floor into something that looked more like a partially collapsed mine shaft than anything else.

Charlie and Amy were trying to find a way to get to Peter as neither of them had brought any rope.

And something had just darted across Peter’s torch beam.

It had been incredibly fast. Almost too fast to see in his startled flailing. But he’d seen plenty.

A pale, naked body. Crawling on all fours.

And he was now in a full blown panic. He had a gun. He had holy water in a flask.

But he definitely felt the furthest distance from anything resembling calm.

“Charlie! Get me the fuck out of here!”

A pause.

Then a question Peter could tell Charlie did not want to hear the answer to, “...why?”

“Because there’s some bloody Silent Hill bastard crawling around down here and I don’t want to get my face eaten!”

A sound came from the darkness. Peter focused the light in that direction. Where the tunnel turned there was the distinct sound of something scrabbling frantically at dirt. Very much like the sound of something digging.

“Oh, Christ,” Peter breathed, eyes wide.

Then something touched the back of his leg.

An iron grip closed around his calf and ripped him completely off of his feet. His face bounced off the ground as he fell, lights bursting in his vision.

Then he was screaming. And being dragged through dark tunnels like a cat on a string.

His fingers scrabbled for purchase in soft dirt. The light of the torch lay abandoned on the ground behind him. He couldn’t hear if Charlie and Amy were calling for him. He was screaming far too loud.

He kicked out with his free leg. Hit only air. Tried again, lower. He struck something but all it did was hiss.

A quick flip of his wrist and he had a knife in his hand. He curled up on himself and slashed at the dark.

His leg was immediately dropped and a furious shriek echoed off the walls.

Peter scrambled to his feet and dashed back toward the light.

But just as he reached it, something hit his back hard enough to drive him into the far wall. Cold, clawed fingers scrabbled at his clothing, climbing up, up. Until they closed over his throat.

And squeezed.

Peter thrashed. His air immediately cut off by the strength of the grip.

Oh, fuck, he was going to die down here. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But as the dark began to snow in his vision, the weight on his back was suddenly gone.

And his ears were filled with the unmistakable sound of something inhuman releasing a terrified wail.

Peter gasped and coughed and pushed against the wall to turn around.

Someone was standingbeside the torch, their hand around the throat of a furiously struggling horror of pale skin and emaciated limbs. Whoever it was, they had the creature lifted completely off the ground. As if it weighed very little.

Shit. Definitely not human.

Then Peter’s brain got a bit more oxygen and his vision cleared.

And he recognized who was standing there.

“What the fuck,” Peter mouthed, suddenly wondering if he were lying unconscious somewhere and this was all a dream.

Because the man standing there strangling a monster with a single bare hand was definitely Peter’s cross enthusiast fan from, Christ, that had been at least a few months ago. Before he’d met Charlie and Amy. Before Jerry.

But he’d definitely made an impression and that long dark hair was very distinctive.

And here, in the weak light of the single torch, what had seemed to be unremarkably light complexion in candlelight was obviously something else entirely.

Peter startled as a grinding, crunching sound suddenly cut off the other creature’s wailing.

Oh, bloody. Christ, he was crushing its throat. With his hand.

Peter watched in horrified fascination as the creature thrashed, clawing futilely at the arm holding it, shredding the dark fabric of the suit and exposing flawless, impervious skin beneath.

Then, with a final, resounding pop, the creature went limp in the man’s grip.

Aro. This new creature’s name was Aro. And Peter had a pretty good idea what he was.

As Peter reached into his coat very slowly, Aro studied his dead victim with unblinking fascination.

Peter closed his hand over the stake in his coat. And then nearly jumped out of his skin when Aro suddenly spoke.

“It has been some time since I have lain eyes on one of the fair folk,” he said, voice smooth and calm and light. As if they were discussing the corpse in his hand over dinner, “This is hardly their preferred habitat. How tragic.”

Then he dropped the body on the ground and turned dark, focused eyes to look at Peter.

“You are injured,” Aro said.

Peter choked on his gulp of air as he braced his back against the wall and pulled out the cross instead.

Those dark eyes dropped down to it with almost childlike surprise, “What do you mean to do with that?”

“I’m going to kill you with it!”

Aro’s answering smile was chiding, “Now, Peter. Fear is quite an intoxicant but I know you are smarter than this.”

Peter pushed off the wall to get his feet under him. He was going to need to move fast. He knew he probably couldn’t move fast enough. But he was going to try.

His pounding heart trying to throttle him wasn’t helping at all.

Aro watched him step away from the wall, that amused smile never leaving his face. The light at his feet threw strange shadows over his face, like a carnival horror.

“Come on now,” Aro said, “That cross cannot hurt me. I’ve handled it before, if you recall.”

Peter’s stomach suddenly dropped. Oh shit. He most definitely did remember. And now he knew he was about to die.

“You’re not a vampire,” Peter choked, his voice hoarse from the bruising around his throat.

Aro’s teeth flashed, “Oh, do not be mistaken. I am most definitely a vampire. Just... not the sort you are at all equipped to manage.”

Then the vampire took a step toward him.

Peter recoiled back against the wall, his heart in his throat, “Don’t!”

Aro stopped with a perplexed look on his face, “I must come closer if I’m to inspect your throat. And that terrible injury on your brow.”

“You aren’t going to be inspecting anything. Just... just stay over there!”

Aro scoffed, “Peter, I am not going to harm you. You may have noticed that I just saved your life.”

“You aren’t...” Peter refused to glanced over at the broken horror the vampire was gesturing at, “Then why the fuck are you here. Why did you...”

Aro flashed his teeth in a self satisfied way and laughed softly, “Well I wasn’t about to let that little urchin do away with my new friend. We are just getting to know each other.”

Peter mouthed the word ‘friend’ like it was from a foreign language. Which apparently it was because Peter had no idea what he was hearing.

Aro frowned at him, “Are you quite certain you are well? You seem a bit...”

“Terrified?”

“I was going to say dim. But as you like,” Aro replied, clasping his hands in front of him, “Ah, I am glad we have been able to bump into each other again, though the circumstances are far from what I had hoped. I have very much looked forward to continuing our discussion.”

That got Peter pushing off the wall again, voice high and shrill as he said, “What discussion.”

“About our... common interests.”

Peter almost discovered if it was possible to choke on incredulousness, “What common interests! You’re a bloody vampire!”

“You are bloodier than me at the moment.”

The noise Peter made at that wasn’t quite human.

“I would like to be clear, going forward,” Aro said, completely ignoring the emotional distress Peter was experiencing, “I have ponder on the topic of your existence and have finally arrived at a firm conclusion that I confide with complete sincerity.”

Aro paused here as if he expected Peter to have a single fucking word to say to that. Or for him to have any idea what the monster was saying. When Peter just stared at him, Aro seemed to decide to keep going without encouragement.

“What I mean, Peter, is that I am entering into this friendship because I find you quite charming on several accounts and would like to pursue a relationship of a romantic nature, if you would be amenable.”

Peter gaped at the vampire.

“You what?”

“I am not in the habit of sweeping the weak and the mortal out of the jaws of death. Normally, I would leave someone in your situation to die a horrible death. But you, I have decided to make an exception for. Because I wish to court you. Is that suitably clear for you?”

He was back in his apartment right now. Overdosed on mushrooms. Or having a stroke. Shit. Why not both.

“What the fuck,” Peter breathed.

Aro drew in a long breath, “You aren’t terribly quick on the uptake, are you, Peter. Which is a shame. I am quite a catch, you know. You really don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

At that, Peter felt his fear whisked away like a cigarette butt out a car window. In what was roaring up fast to take its place was something a lot like anger and felt a good bit like a death wish. But, strangely enough, that didn’t even given Peter pause.

“Opportunity,” Peter muttered.

Then he squawked, “Opportunity! How could I possibly let it pass me by any faster! You think I’m just going to nod and, what, bone a bloody vampire? You can fuck right off with that!”

“Ah, I see. I was too abrupt,” Aro said, “I apologize. I was overeager and have distressed you.”

Peter scoffed, “Oh I’m not distressed. This? Is not distress. Not even in the area. This, in case you were wondering, is complete bafflement. Where the hell do you get off picking some random human, no, a vampire hunter, and start propositioning. What, you get off on playing with your food before you eat it. What am I saying, of course you do.”

Aro glanced up at Peter’s bleeding forehead, “There are several ways to eat a human and not all of those options end in your demise. But if you must know, though we have only just met, there are already several aspects of your person that I am quite fond of.”

Peter’s abused throat was beginning to throb with all of this yelling, and his voice was beginning to truly rasp. Perhaps losing his voice wasn’t the worst that could happen just now. He suspected he was currently talking his way right into an early grave. But this bastard was pissing him right off and he couldn’t stop.

“Oh,” Peter said with a mockingly magnanimous gesture, “Please share.”

“Well, your appearance is wholly flattering. You have nothing to be ashamed of there.”

“Go in for the gangly ones then, do you,” Peter said, with a reckless little giggle, “Alright, go on.”

“We have many things in common, as we’ve discussed. An appreciation for the occult and the ancient. You might see now why I share this interest.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter scoffed, “Oh I definitely see it now.”

“And the way you flail about constantly,” Aro said, voice going very deep, “Well, it does wonders. A predator’s instinct plays into far more than just the hunt after all.”

Peter did not know how to take that at all. But it managed to rouse his common sense like a slap across the face. He drew up against the wall again, heart pounding with fear. Again. Instead of whatever it had been going on about just a moment ago.

Aro seemed to notice the change immediately, his face becoming very watchful.

Peter just stared at him. Christ, this bastard was about to tear his throat out and Peter had just spent the last moments of his life acting completely mad.

Well, at least he’d die the way he’d lived. Exhausted and completely ignoring his problems.

Though he wished he wasn’t facing his death quite this resoundingly sober.

Then Aro’s face tilted up, glancing at the ceiling of the tunnel, “Ah, the children have arrived. I wonder if they ever found any rope.”

Suddenly Peter gave exactly no fucks about his imminent demise. Amy and Charlie. Oh, Christ.

“Wait!” Peter rasped, his voice barely working and right when he needed it most, “Don’t. Don’t hurt them. Just. I’ll go with you. You can take me. I’ll flail as much as you like. Just...”

He’d crossed the space between them without noticing, a hand reaching out to the vampire, nearly touching the dark fabric of his lapels. The vampire glanced down at that hand and then back up at Peter.

“Peace, my dear,” Aro said softly, “I have no intention of hurting anyone. In fact, I thought it quite clear that my intention was to protect you.”

Then the vampire took a small step forward, letting Peter’s outstretched hand brush against his chest, “I am no danger to you or yours. No matter what you may do. You have my word on that, Peter.”

The fabric beneath Peter’s hand was soft and cool, as if nothing living lay beneath the fabric. But the chest expanded as the vampire spoke and Peter was helpless to do anything but listen.

“We will see one another again. And I hope we will become the best of friends.”

“That shag.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He had not meant to say that.

Aro’s answering grin was decidedly predatory, “If you like. I know I would. But I leave that decision up to you.”

A hand was reaching up. Pale and bare. Reaching up to touch Peter.

Peter had the stake out of his coat with a magician’s deftness and speed. He did not pause before he shoved it through the vampire’s chest.

Or tried to.

His wrist bloomed with pain. As if he’d attacked solid concrete. The stake fell from nerveless fingers as he choked down a pained cry and staggered back.

This was it. He was done for.

The vampire’s sigh was loud in the silence.

“I know you are a stubborn creature but this is... Well, perhaps it is understandable. It is a lot to take in at once,” Aro said, “I will leave you to your friends. There are no other dangers in these tunnels, I assure you.”

Peter stared at Aro as he dipped his head in a bow.

“Until we meet again.”

Then Peter was standing alone in the tunnel. Well. Not alone. There was the pitifully crumpled corpse nearby. But Peter had all but forgotten it as he stared off into the dark.

He startled when he finally realized Charlie was calling out to him from the hole in the ceiling. He sounded panicked.

Then a rope struck Peter in the face.

“Are you alright!” Amy called down.

“Yes, I...”

“Peter! Hurry up!”

Peter reached up to grasp the rope, though it all felt very far away. Buy the time they’d hauled him out, he’d gathered himself enough to get his feet under him and moving in the direction Charlie and Amy rushed him. Toward sunlight. And Vegas in all her tacky glory.

The real world.

A world where a vampire certainly hadn’t just saved his life, proposed whatever the fuck that had been, and then disappeared.

He was safe now. Everything would go back to normal.

Peter knew that all the alcohol in the world couldn’t make him believe that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So November has been quite miserable for me and I worry that affected this chapter a little bit. If so, I apologize. 
> 
> I hope the rest of you are having a wonderful month. And if you are not, we can commiserate together. So there’s that.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your sweet comments! I haven’t forgotten about your prompts and you should see them pop up in the other chapters I have cooking if they aren’t in this one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed. Stay warm everyone!


	5. The Mundane and the Magical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter calls Aro late at night. And they go on a little adventure.
> 
> I imagined this chapter happened just a little bit before chapter 3. Thank you to fortheothermisfits, derbelisca, and magic_mushrooms for your prompts that helped inspire this chapter.
> 
> Their requests: Peter and Aro doing something mundane, Aro watching Peter without Peter knowing, and some of Aro’s perspective, respectively.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Mwah 💋!

He was sitting up in bed. In the dark. His scream still ringing in the air.

The voices of the dead called out from his dreams with their own, far more terrible screams.

He shuddered and clawed at his hair. And panted into the darkness as tears splashed over his cheeks.

“Oh god,” he cried as he reached up and grabbed at his head, his nails digging painfully hard into his scalp. He barely felt it as the shaking refused to stop.

Nearly drowning in the pain of the dream, the wrenching, irrational horror of it, he had only one thought.

Only one person he ached to call out to with a shaking desperation he was too bared and raw from the dreams to smother.

He was reaching for his phone before he could think himself out of it. Focused on getting his fear numb fingers to dial rather than on the doubts rising up to mock him.

Swiping at his eyes, he cleared his throat as he brought the cool glass of the phone to his ear.

It picked up on the second ring.

“This is most definitely the number you should be calling in the middle of the night,” was what Aro answered with, his smugly pleased smile clearly audible.

Peter didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t know what to say. Wasn’t... sure now why he’d called at all really.

“Peter?” Aro’s voice was sharper now, “Peter.”

A pause.

Then the vampire spoke again and it was entirely different now. Low, menacingly smooth. Though somehow not at all aggravating to Peter’s current state.

“If this is something that has dared to take Peter-“

“No,” Peter cut him off, “No, sorry. I’m...I’m fine.”

Another pause in which the vampire’s doubt of that statement rang perfectly clear.

“I’m telling the truth. I just... I...”

“Go on.”

“Just...talk to me.”

“... What do you mean.”

“About anything. Just... I don’t know. Shit,” Peter ran his hand over his face, “Just talk about anything. The rest of the time I can’t get you to shut up. Tell me about... carriages.”

“Dear, I know exactly nothing about carriages-“

“I don’t know. Something only an old relic like you would know anything about.”

“Is there a purpose to this request or...”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Peter sighed into the phone, “Nevermind. I don’t know why I- Fuck!”

There was silence on the other end of the line and then Aro said, “I miss wearing heels.”

Peter stared at his completely unmade bed as he pulled his knees up against his chest, “What?”

“Not that I don’t still wear them from time to time, but outside gatherings with the family, there is so rarely a suitable opportunity for them.”

“You aren’t joking.”

“Of course not, Peter. The passing of fashion trends I actually enjoyed are one of the worst aspects of immortality.”

Peter rested his forehead on his wrist and huffed a faint laugh, “Christ, you are unbelievable.”

“As only myth made flesh can deliver. That is me at the door by the way.”

There was a gentle knock at the door.

Peter startled. He was tangled in the rumpled silk sheets, wearing pants only. This wasn’t because he didn’t prefer to sleep naked but entirely because Aro had let himself in while Peter was sleeping several times in the past. The lack of a shirt wasn’t the only issue with the unexpected visitor. He hadn’t showered the day before and he knew he stank of alcohol when he went to bed. And even he could smell the fear sweat staining his skin and the bedding.

He knew he should feel ashamed. That he was a right mess and not fit to be seen. But after a moment, he decided he didn’t care and slipped out of bed.

Heading toward the door, he doubled back for his robe and slipped into it. He didn’t bother calling out to let Aro know he was on his way to let him in. Because he knew Aro knew already. Where he was in the apartment and what he was doing.

It should be creepy. Invasive. But from Aro, it just felt...

Familiar.

Something was so very wrong with Peter. And he was far too exhausted to care.

When he opened the door, Aro was dressed in a black suit, as usual, but without a tie. His top two buttons were undone on his shirt.

Peter managed to smile a bit at seeing that. Experience had clued Peter in that it meant Aro had decided to dress casually for an unannounced middle of the night invasion of Peter’s apartment. How very decent of him.

The way Aro glanced up and down Peter’s body assessingly before he looked into the apartment over Peter’s shoulder was routine by now as well, God help him.

“Everything meet your approval?” Peter asked.

Aro hummed as he stepped into the apartment, “Not even remotely.”

Peter made a face at the empty hallway and greeted it dryly, “Well come right in. Welcome.”

By the time he closed the door and walked back into his living room, Aro was nowhere to be seen.

“Oi! Where did you run off to,” Peter called.

“Are you alright to go out as you are, or would you prefer to shower first,” came a voice from the direction of the bedroom.

“Is that supposed to be a hint?”

Peter walked cautiously through the apartment. The creepy bastard had a bad habit of popping out of shadows. Aro swore he just wasn’t used to being around a creature with human eyesight. But Peter put all of it into the long column of Aro’s personality traits he titled ‘sadistic little shit tendencies’

“I could not care either way. We have discussed this several times. Do try to remember our time together. Or else I might doubt your affection for me.”

Peter rolled his eyes as he came into the bedroom. Aro was in his closet. That was always an adventure for the vampire. One he took to with undisguised relish. And Peter very rarely let him in there during his home invasions.

“Mm,” Aro hummed from the depths, “Oh yes.”

Peter sighed, resigning himself to the fact that they were going out, “Well, if you don’t care, I’m going to wash up. I have a nose and I know I stink.”

Having approached the shower with grudging determination, he found that the moment his skin came beneath the hot water he immediately felt some of the shivery tension bleed out of his muscles. Not all of it, of course. A good bit of that was just baked right into him by now.

But it still felt good. And by the time he slipped out of the bathroom in underwear and a bathrobe, he found Aro fussing with an outfit he’d placed on the bed. Then he stepped out of Peter’s way with an elegant bow and a mischievous little smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

Peter blinked when he registered the clothes that had been set out.

A long sleeve T-shirt, soft and well worn with just a bit of edgy graphics printed on it to suit him. Some of his most comfortable skinny jeans, black, of course. And, the most startling, a dark hoodie.

“I do hope it meets your approval,” Aro said, sliding in close enough to nearly touch shoulders with Peter.

“If I ask where exactly you are taking me, will you lie and tell me you aren’t taking me to a back alley to murder me.”

Aro opened his mouth to reply but Peter cut him off.

“-or to watch you murder someone else.”

It was Aro’s turn to roll his eyes, “I swear to you that I have already completed all of my necessary murders this month.”

“This month? We’re only two weeks into this one. I think. What day is it?”

“Perhaps I can explain the dietary needs of an ancient being such as myself along the way.”

Peter huffed and began grabbing the clothes from the bed, “Wish you’d tell me who you’re offing, since you said they were all scum of the earth types.”

“Oh, yes, there are so many billionaires these days. So shameful. Even I balk at the immorality of it and I’ve been wealthy for... well, some time. But as to billionaires, there’s one less as of last Thursday.”

Peter was in his closet with the door firmly closed, shuffling into his clothes. And they were remarkably comfortable and exactly what he’d wanted.

“Look at you, you bastard. You’ll be an immortal vigilante in no time. They’ll be doing little drawings of you in tights eventually.”

“Ah,” Aro sighed the way he did when something sent him down a pleasant bit of memory lane, “I haven’t worn a proper pair of hose in some time. My dear, what are your opinions on masked balls.”

Peter just snorted as he opened the door and stepped out. He ignored the vampiric inspection his form was no doubt undergoing at that moment and instead swore at the fiddly ends of the hoodie’s zipper that refused to click together.

Cold, gloved hands suddenly pressed his firmly out of the way and made short work of the zipper, sliding the zip up with deliberate slowness. Peter knew exactly what he would find if he looked up just then, but he was helpless to do otherwise. His eyes came up. And Aro’s dark red eyes were there to meet him, as intense and unblinking as they ever were. And so close.

Peter, gripped by some prey’s instinct, took a long carefully quiet inhaling breath. Pinned by those eyes, by the hand still hovering above his sternum. By the fact that Peter knew what he was feeling at that moment was not exactly fear. No. Not exactly.

But his heart was beating quick beneath his ribs. And they both knew Aro could hear it.

Then Peter stepped back and deliberately turned his head to tear the locking of their gazes. It went grudgingly, like cold taffy.

“Alright, I’m clean and dressed and ready for whatever horror show you have planned.”

Peter was startled by the way Aro’s composure suddenly broke at that.

Into manic, giggling laughter.

Peter knew this laugh. Knew it was creepy and obviously insane and the first time he’d heard it, he’d almost crawled right out of his skin.

But now it just made him smile incredulously at the vampire until he’d worked through whatever had been so damn amusing.

Yeah, he knew Aro wasn’t exactly working with a complete set. That had been painfully obvious from the beginning.

And Peter, a complete idiot, didn’t have as much of a problem with that as he did with the fact that Aro was an annoying bastard when he wanted to be. And that he had a catlike inability to really understand that Peter’s personal spaces, including the depths of his closet, weren’t also Aro’s to wander through at his leisure.

Peter worked show buisness in Vegas for a living and crawled into dark, dangerous situations to kill monsters that terrified him for a hobby. He didn’t have much claim to sanity himself and he knew it.

And it had probably taken Peter a lot less time to get there too, he thought, suddenly frowning. The dark memory of his dream brushed against the back of his mind, flashing its pale teeth.

But then a gloved hand closed over his wrist.

And Peter’s mouth opened to complain even before the vampire began dragging him toward the door.

It was a reflex by now.

“Oi! Don’t just-“ Peter flailed as he was dragged out of the apartment, “I put on clothes because I was going with you, you great sodding labradoodle.”

“Well, you certainly took your time about it,” Aro replied.

“Five minutes at most! What do we have middle of the night reservations at the Top?”

Aro giggled as he herded Peter into the elevator, “Lord, no, do not mention that place in my presence. Their sauces taste atrocious.”

“Wait, I thought your sort didn’t eat. Couldn’t, really.”

“Mm, well I suppose when I said taste I meant...”

Peter waited, completely confused.

“They smell terrible. Not nearly enough salt.”

Peter snorted, “What, so you... have smelled the cooking at the Top of the World? Wait, so you just went in, ordered food and smelled it without eating it?”

Aro’s head did a little side to side wobble as they left the elevator that Peter decided to take as a yes.

Which was...

Peter made it out the doors of the building before his laughter exploded out of him. He staggered a bit, wheezing as he reached out a hand for the stability of Aro’s shoulder.

“Wait, oh Christ, I just,” Peter gasped, “I can just see your poncey ass having a nice sit there by the windows. Just...oh my god.”

Aro stood patiently and waited him out.

By the time Peter was able to breath and stand up straight again, he felt flushed and his stomach hurt. He looked over at Aro still huffing the last bits of his laughter.

To find Aro looking right at him with a little smile on his dark lips and a look in his eyes that was...

Christ help him, it was familiar. So fucking familiar.

What was his life.

“I’m so glad you find my hobbies so amusing, my dear, as I am about to show you another of them,” Aro said, gesturing to the sleek black vehicle waiting for them at the curb.

“Another one? Something beyond food smelling and murder? Well now you just look like your trying too hard,” Peter said.

But he hurried over to the car. Because, god help him, he was so curious. And Aro knew he would be. Which was why he’d phrased it like that.

To get Peter into his shady black car with its tinted windows. And oh so comfy seats.

“Hi, there, Maxy,” Peter said to the purple haired driver.

They yawned and answered, “Hey, Peter.”

“I can drive, if you’re tired,” Peter offered, perched on the edge of his seat.

“Mmm, no,” Max answered dryly, but Peter could hear the badly hidden smile in their voice.

Then Aro was sliding into the car beside Peter.

“Are you hungry, Peter?”

Slumping back in his seat, Peter sighed, “I could eat. A gyro. From-“

“Yes, yes. I think by now I can guess the establishment you are interested in.”

“Well in that case, why even ask?”

Aro just smiled at him as Max moved them out into traffic.

Peter rolled his eyes, “Show off.”

“So there wasn’t nearly enough hot sauce. And everyone was fighting over the last packet before we’d even hit the bleachers,” Peter said, munching on a fry as he waved his other hand to elaborate his story.

“Surely the restaurant was deliberately skimping on the sauces. They would know better than any the necessary ratio for each taco,” Aro said, holding out the tzatziki container so Peter could drag his next fry through it.

“Yes!” Peter said, pointing at the middle of Aro’s face triumphantly, “It was deliberate sabotage! But then I thought-“

Peter stopped as Max pulled them into a parking garage.

“We here, then? Where have you taken me, anyway?”

“You shall soon see. But please continue. I am eager to hear what this hot sauce shortage has to do with why you rolled your first automotive into a ditch.”

Peter popped out of the car the moment Max parked it. He grinned over the top of the car at a frowning Aro who was exiting from the other side.

“Oh no, you devil. I am not letting you distract me from the true mystery, which is what the hell this whole trip is about.”

Aro sighed, “Well I suppose you’ll just have to follow me then, Peter. It’s not far.”

Peter winked down at Max. But it was a waste of a perfectly dashing wink as Max was pointedly opening a book in the front seat and ignoring both of them completely.

Peter smiled and hurried over to walk next to Aro.

“If you’re walking me into a murder scene, I’m leaving,” Peter reminded.

“Considering your past experiences, I hardly believe you would notice if I did,” Aro answered.

“What?! What past experiences!” Peter squawked.

Aro shot him an unimpressed look, “You know exactly to what I am referring.”

“Agh,” Peter snorted in disgust, “That was one time!”

Aro lifted a hand and stroked it down Peter’s arm like he was calming a particularly excitable dog, “Of course, Peter.”

“Oi!” Peter said, snatching the hand and holding it away from his arm, “That’s enough of that. Don’t forget I know all about you and that highschool girl!”

Aro sighed and looked up at the dark sky, “Now Peter, you always interpret that story entirely incorrectly. I merely put some pressure on a situation that was threatening to create an abhorrent mess.”

Peter scoffed and turned so that he was walking backwards in front of Aro, “That is not what was happening there. Those kids just wanted to shag and you threatened them with dismemberment and death.”

Aro couldn’t quite hide his smile, “Only a little.”

“I seriously doubt that. And it’s a good thing you retired and met me so that I can point this sort of thing out to you.”

Then Peter jolted to a halt as Aro stopped walking, holding Peter in place with the hand Peter ruefully realized he hadn’t stopped holding since he’d grabbed it.

He looked up and met Aro’s gaze, wondering why he’d stopped.

Aro was looking at him again. With that look. Like the way normal people looked at sleeping kittens. But in Aro’s case it probably meant the vampire was considering a late night snack. Of the bloody sort, not the...

Fucking Christ. What did Peter’s heart think it was doing.

He should definitely stop looking at Aro. Pull his hand out of his. Step back.

But he didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, he stayed right where he was and waited for Aro to speak.

“Yes, I,” Aro began, then paused as if to collect himself, “I do believe it was a good thing. Our having met.”

Then he squeezed Peter’s hand. Ever so slightly.

Peter stared at the vampire, heat rising beneath the collar of his shirt and his mouth hanging helplessly open.

Aro must have decided to take pity on his suddenly flatlining companion, because he finally turned and looked up at the building they were standing beside, “Ah, here we are.”

It took a moment for Peter to turn his head, but when he did, he found himself blinking up at an age stained marquee lined with an intermittent line of feebly glowing halogen bulbs. The marquee said “Night of the Vampires” in solid block letters.

“What,” Peter said, “What is this place.”

“They’ve been showing films of this nature for approximately six years now. And they play very late into the night on Fridays.”

“Wait,” Peter said, pressing the fingers of his free hand against the bone between his eyes, “This is your hobby? Watching old horror movies in a hole in the wall theatre in Vegas?”

“They’re hardly old,” Aro said matter of factory, “This particular film was first played in the sixties.”

“Oh my god,” Peter laughed as he looked over at Aro.

“I thought you might enjoy it, “Aro said, matching Peter’s grin with a smile of his own.

“Christ, I do,” Peter said in defeat, “This is so lame. Let’s go get some tickets. And you’re buying the popcorn.”

Peter dragged Aro into the theatre by that same hand. Neither of them had quite remembered to let go.

This poor actress had obviously been forced into a dress far too small for her. It appeared terribly uncomfortable to Aro. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t managed to stab her attacker yet.

Aro turned to say as much to Peter when he noticed the human’s eyes were closed and his head tilted back against the back of his chair. Completely asleep.

Aro smiled. Peter hadn’t quite lasted ten minutes past the opening credits. Just enough time to eat half the popcorn, it seemed.

And now he was melted down into his chair and fallen into a deep sleep, the sounds of the movie and the soft, birdlike rustling of the other movie goers like a soft lullaby to the exhausted hunter.

Just as Aro had intended.

Honestly, Peter very rarely understood the depths of Aro’s cleverness. Which he did not object to in most cases.

After all, Peter was much more difficult to care for when he was aware it was happening. Not that that wasn’t a delightful way to spend an evening as well. Even Peter’s complaining was endearing.

But sometimes Aro just wanted this.

The peace and the quiet. The satisfied warmth in his undead chest as he watched Peter pull in soft, restful breaths and as he listened to the steady, even rhythm of his heart beating.

Aro could still smell the fear on Peter. Distant and faint now as Peter rested, finally undisturbed by nightmares.

The sound of his voice when he had called Aro... it hadn’t been Peter’s voice.

It had been raw as a broken bone.

And if Aro’s heart still beat, it might have stopped at that moment.

But Peter’s life had not been in immediate danger as Aro had imagined.

And Aro had been so very grateful to the man. For calling him. For giving him the chance to help. Even if it wasn’t nearly as much as Aro wished to do.

But stepping into a human’s mind and tearing apart their demons for them was not a gift Aro was in possession of.

So he made due with the tools he had.

And perhaps, he had not done such a terrible job of it. Peter’s laughter from earlier was still dancing in the back of his mind. His flashing smile. The warmth of his hand in Aro’s.

All of these, he knew, were signs of a relaxed human. A human that was not currently dwelling on the brutal murder of his parents. Which, for now, was what Peter so desperately needed. To feel safe. And perhaps even, oh so briefly, at peace.

Aro knew better than most how long grief and pain could linger in a mind. Like it was built into the very foundation stones of a soul. And seemingly impossible to remove.

But some scars weren’t so deep they couldn’t be shifted a bit. So they did not weigh so heavily.

Aro had every intention of assisting with that. Very carefully assisting.

Peter shifted a bit in his sleep and Aro drew a calming hand across his brow.

Then Aro sighed and murmured, low and soft, “Ah, il mio cantante. Dream only of pleasant things. I am guarding you.”

Then he leaned to the side, he did not have to lean far, and pressed a single, adoring kiss just above his human’s temple. Peter sniffed a bit and gave a few oblivious snores before leaning into Aro’s shoulder and settling in. As if he had every right to commandeer said shoulder.

Aro smiled and breathed in the painfully delicious smell of him.

And then he settled into the dark to watch over Peter until he woke.

Because Peter had every right to him. Aro had no ability to deny him anything any longer.

And he had never minded anything less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it is cold outside and all I wanna do is snuggle! That is my only excuse for this chapter.


	6. Viscera at Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they kissed. And then Peter royally fucked it up because that is what he does. And losing what they had does not come without cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I little update to this so that you do not think I am dead. I live! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it
> 
> Also, if anyone missed it, Anything I Wouldn’t Do has a second chapter (it is shameless smut 😘)

Peter needs a vacation.

He’s currently on vacation. But somehow he still needs a vacation.

Having found the only shady beach spot anywhere near his hotel that also had a bar on hand, Peter had settled himself into a plastic beach chair and proceeded to drink copiously of whatever the waitress had just brought him. Something blue and strangely flavored with a very unreasonably curly straw. He had exactly no memory of ordering it.

Peter sucked on the straw and glared at the ocean driving itself pointlessly over the sand.

He squinted against the sparkle of the late afternoon sun and thought about exactly nothing.

No. That was not true. The truth was that he was thinking about a lot of things. It was just that he wasn’t thinking anything he hadn’t thought countless times for weeks.

_You know, I own a lovely estate in the Black Forest in Germany._

People kept walking in front of him, between him and the bright water. Laughing. Talking to each other. About things he did not care about. He barely noticed them.

_Of course not, Peter. The passing of fashion trends I actually enjoyed are one of the worst aspects of immortality._

There was once a time when Peter’s eyes would have followed the mostly naked bodies striding past him. Would have studied them. Contemplated. And then found someone willing to go back to his room with. Someone to keep the nightmares at bay.

_How else was I meant to lure you out of your apartment in the middle of the night. I wonder what is in here._

Now he just stared through them. None of them spared a second glance for the pale, exhausted man huddled beneath his green striped hotel towel. His head ached through the dull feeling of the alcohol. Had ached for days. He’d stopped worrying about it.

_It’s just soup, you delicate thing._

Peter had his phone out. It was lying on his thigh, the screen dark. He didn’t reach for it now. Didn’t open the messaging screen. Didn’t stare at one particular conversation.

He’d looked at it enough times now that he had most of it memorized. Could look down the little bubbles of words. Remember when those conversations had happened. How it had felt.

How different he had felt then. Compared to now.

_Just some intelligent conversation. I am willing to settle for speaking with you instead._

He’d left everything behind. Had only been out here a few days. Had to get away.

_I am not annoying, Peter. I simply have class. Which you are apparently allergic to._

He kept... He hadn’t been able to stop... waiting. At the park bench outside his building. At the little Greek restaurant that sometimes seemed to make the only food Peter could manage to eat. At Peter’s favorite bar

All the places he knew he’d be easy to find. If someone were looking for him.

But no one was.

_Yes I... I do believe it was a good thing. Our having met._

The only place he’d really slept lately was in the shitty theatre with the peeling paint and half the bulbs on the marquee blown to black. Until he’d startle awake, at a sound the movie had made, or at how oddly cold he felt folded in one of the lumpy chairs with no looming dark figure perched contentedly in the chair beside him.

_It’s alcohol, you dramatic creature._

It was in one of those lumpy chairs that he realized something.

Besides this place, this one shabby place so easily thrown away, Peter did not know of any other places of Aro’s.

He did not know where he lived. And besides the vague assumption that he occasionally went off to murder someone when he got a bit peckish, Peter had no idea what Aro got up to when he wasn’t pestering Peter.

That gap in his knowledge was there for one reason only.

Because he had never asked.

_Why is it you usually go on holiday to the tropics when you prefer a more temperate climate?_

Peter closed his eyes, exhaustion aching through his bones. He felt like absolute shit.

Because, he was being reminded for the hundredth time, he was a miserably horrible human being. Who had just been shown how to be a better one by a vampire.

And instead of taking a delicious snog for the beginning it didn’t necessarily have to be, he’d panicked. And grabbed hold of the heart he fucking knew Aro had. And crushed it.

Because he had been too terrified to be careful. Because he’d been so much more afraid of loss than he had of hurting Aro.

And he’d lost anyway.

Because he was a shit human being.

_Very well, Peter... I..._

Peter opened aching eyes and stared up at the tacky, tattered umbrella above his head.

His hand was lying on his phone. He didn’t know...

What could he possibly say.

He was in a strange place. Full of shadows and shapes that shifted and watched him.

Peter threw out his hands between him and the dark and met nothing but cold air. Cold unfamiliar air that smelled unsettlingly sterile.

He shivered and gasped. And remembered. A hotel. He was sitting in a bed in a hotel. Because he was on vacation.

There was... if he reached over there was a...

It took a bit for his fear numb fingers to find the switch on the bedside lamp.

Then the room was suddenly just a room.

Peter shivered and dropped his head into his hands.

His head that ached so badly his eyes would not focus completely on anything he looked at.

“Christ,” Peter sobbed against his palms.

He’d gone to bed drunk. Not long ago. Could feel the alcohol still.

But lately, it wasn’t working. Wasn’t delivering the oblivion he ached for.

Instead, horrors lay behind his eyelids. Night or day, they crawled out to drag their claws through his clammy skin. And he didn’t....

There was nothing else to do.

_This is most definitely the number you should be calling in the middle of the night._

Peter looked up, glanced over the room. The memory of that voice had seemed... almost real. He had half expected to see him standing there.

And that was somehow enough to calm a bit of the fear still tearing through his limbs. Ease some of the shaking and the pounding of his heart.

Just the almost sound of a voice.

But he was alone in the room.

He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected to tell the vampire to leave. And for him to actually leave.

He’d looked. For the creep to be following him. Paused countless times while going about his life to glance out at the crowd at the end of his shows. Searched the faces walking by on the street.

He hadn’t been there. He was just... gone. Like he’d never swept into Peter’s life with impossible declarations and that ridiculous personality to pour color into Peter’s life. And somehow make it painfully obvious that Peter was somehow doing the same for him.

The way he would catch Aro just silently watching him with this glowing, peaceful sort of smile in his eyes. No one looked at Peter that way. No one.

And Peter knew he had smiled more in the short time he’d known the bastard then he ever had in all the years before. Not the smiles he used to mock or cut or hurt. To drive people away. Or make them respect him. No. The other kind. The kind he’d thought he’d run completely out of.

The sort that had come back when he’d chosen to help Charlie, but that he hadn’t been able to hold back once he and Aro became... whatever that had been.

Friends. God help him, they had been friends.

And it was only now that Peter recognized it for what it was.

He hadn’t known what it looked like.

What it felt like.

He hadn’t known.

They can’t find Charlie. They’ve been looking for hours without a single sign of him.

And every time Peter closes his eyes he sees Charlie’s pale, terrified face as something dragged him away into the desert night.

“Shit!” Peter hisses as yet another half hour goes by without even a partial footprint.

Where the fuck could they have gone? He knew the monster had feet. He had a perfectly detailed bruise forming on his ribs where it had kicked him.

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

“Shit shit shit,” Peter said, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Peter?” Amy said, eyeing him nervously.

He misdialed twice before he managed to hit the right name on his contacts. Then he brought the phone up to his ear, breathed heavily as it rang twice.

Then it clicked.

A voicemail message he had never heard from this number droned in his ear, “The person you have called is not available, please leave your message...”

Peter didn’t hear the rest. His head was filling with a high pitched sound. It rose and throbbed against the bones of his skull and painted the edges of the world in grey fog.

Then he heard the cold, empty beep. Then silence.

Peter took a loud breath. Then another.

When he finally found his voice, it was a ragged, exhausted thing,

“God...” he said.

Then he swallowed, tried again, “God help you if you’ve thrown away this phone, because I need your bloody help or Charlie is going to die. Do you hear me? I... I was a complete wanker and I get it. But...” his voice catches, “But I don’t have any other way to reach you. And Charlie...”

Peter growls in frustration. He’s trying to speak. Trying to pull out of that roiling mass of emotion and pain in his chest but it refuses to order itself into any sort of sense. He’d always had trouble with words not written in a script for him to memorize. Real words. That meant something. But right now? They’d never meant more. And he couldn’t manage to-

“Fuck! He’s going to die! And you don’t fucking give a shit about that because I-“

Peter looks up at Amy who is staring at him with wide eyes. He can’t meet them for long. He drops his eyes and turns his back to her.

“If you ever get this message. I take it back...I take it all back.”

Then he ends the call and lets his hand fall to his side, phone gripped tight in his fingers.

“Was that your vampire friend?”

Peter spins very slowly to stare at her.

“What?”

“I know about him,” she says, voice tight. With fear and exhaustion and the same creeping hopelessness that he feels clawing at his throat.

Peter narrows his eyes at her, “You know about- No. Doesn’t matter. He’s not coming to pull our arses out of this,” he takes a step toward her. Reaches up to grip her shoulders, “We’ll find Charlie, Amy. We’re going to find him.”

It took a moment, but then Amy nodded, familiar determination settling back into her eyes. The sight was so reassuring to Peter he almost gave her a smile despite the pain tearing apart the inside of his chest.

They make yet another sweep through the empty campground just off the freeway. Little stone lined fire pits sit in the center of barren swathes of compacted earth, scrubby creosote circling around.

They find nothing. Again.

Staring out into the moonless night, Peter knows he could be anywhere out there. He knows that it has been far too long for Charlie to still be alive.

Peter changes out his flashlight battery for his spares and they begin picking their way down into another dry river bed.

They are going the entirely opposite direction when they hear the sudden sound shriek through the moonless night. A twisting, tortured keen like nothing Peter has ever heard before.

Following it leads them to a steep, dry cutbank cluttered with clinging brush.

Amy tears the brush away with her hands, the scream dying and leaving gasping silence behind.

There is a cave behind the branches, scraped out by claws that left long, deep furrows in the stone.

Inside, they find Charlie.

And the thing that took him.

Well, they find most of it.

Splattered over the walls and in dark, slowly oozing chunks at the edges of their light beams.

And in the middle of the carnage is Aro. He has the creature’s head in one hand and he is watching its eyelids flutter with incredible focus.

His attention shifts as they burst into the close space and he drops the head to the ground. Steps delicately over the carnage.

“So glad the both of you could make it,” Aro said, hands held together in front of him.

Peter was staring. He knew he was staring. But he couldn’t very well stop and Aro was not about to notice or care. The vampire had never caught on that it was fucking creepy to forget about blinking.

“Um...” Amy says, glancing at both of them before side stepping carefully around Aro. Practical as always, Amy immediately went for Charlie, who was slumped against the wall at the back of the cave.

“Oh, don’t worry, their venom is mostly a sedative,” Aro said to her as she checked Charlie for injuries.

“Mostly?” Amy said back, but focused on Charlie rather than waiting for a reply as her tension slowly eased out of her shoulders.

“I took the liberty of calling the authorities. They should be here shortly with medics,” Aro said, returning Peter’s stare, yes, unblinkingly. Peter wanted very badly to look away. Staring at Aro just then was like gripping a live wire and he couldn’t figure out why. And he hadn’t yet managed the looking away bit. Also, again, he was unsure why.

But it was obvious the vampire read Peter’s expression completely wrong when he said, “I...told them my friend was lost and injured but that I was going to check this dangerous looking cave and call them back if I found him,” Aro’s eyes finally looked away, falling on Amy and Charlie, “Oh, look, there he is.”

The spell was broken and Peter could finally look away.

“How is he, Amy?”

“I don’t know, but he seems...” Amy ‘s words caught a bit as her fingers ran over Charlie’s forehead, ruffling the curly hair, “I think he’s ok. The paramedics will be here soon?”

“Mm,” Aro confirmed, “Very soon. Perhaps you can hear them?”

Peter leaned out of the cave entrance he was standing at and listened.

All he heard was the wind.

He glanced back into the cave. Aro was watching him again. He hadn’t moved at all in any direction. Just stood there. The silent eye of a storm painted in blood and bone. Waiting for Peter.

Peter stared at him for a long moment and then looked away, shame sitting in his gut like a rock.

“There’s...you should come out here with me,” Peter said awkwardly, “Put those ears to some use. To... you could...hear when the medics are close.”

Aro seemed to hesitate. And that momentary pause, that stutter of movement had Peter ready to sink into the ground.

But then Aro was at his side a sickly smile flashing briefly on his face. As if he was grasping around in his bag of expressions, uncertain which was appropriate.

It did not help whatever Peter’s stomach was doing.

“Lead the way, Peter,” Aro said intently, “And I will follow.”

Peter’s heart thudded heavy against his ribs and he coughed a bit. God, every fucking time. How did this bastard do this to him. Why this one. This oblivious, awkward disaster of a person.

Well... put like that, it sounded like someone else Peter knew. Fuck.

Aro was still waiting for Peter to speak, perfectly accustomed to the way he’d tumble around in his own head like this sometimes. There wasn’t even a hint of impatience in the vampire’s expression.

And that, right there. The way Aro was waiting with perfect patience. It almost cracked Peter down the middle.

He was just able to roll his eyes instead.

“Alright,” Peter said, pointing over his shoulder at the dark outside the cave with his flashlight, “Well, I am going out here. Follow away.”

Then Peter steps out into the cold night and runs the light of his flashlight over the desert ground, the handful of scrubby trees nearby, the jagged outcroppings of rock scattered about. He can see the distant glow of the city splashing against the dark sky but very little else to suggest they are anywhere near civilization.

The air is crisp and dry as he stands alone in the dark and takes a deep breath.

Aro steps up beside him then.

Peter holds himself still and waits for Aro to speak. Not sure what he expects, but a tight ball of dread sits right beneath his sternum. Dread. And guilt. Two emotions he has lived with so long he cannot remember a time without them.

But what Aro says when he finally speaks is not anything like what Peter expected.

“I only mention this because I am certain you are not aware of it but,” Aro says, “You are actively bleeding from somewhere above your hairline and it is rather alarming.”

Peter stared at Aro for a moment. And then he reached up toward his hair. He had no idea what he was reaching for. He couldn’t feel any pain. Couldn’t even remember getting hurt. He thought back to their hunt. The sudden attack. Charlie’s frantic screams as he was dragged off into the night. Had Peter been hurt then? He didn’t remember.

But before he could touch his hair to search for this mysterious injury, Aro’s hand came out as if to grab his wrist.

But stopped before it touched. Hovered there in the air between them.

“May I?”

Peter blinked at that gloved hand. So familiar. And the way it hesitated to touch him now. So strange. As if it hadn’t touched him many times before over the course of several months.

Before Peter had panicked and slapped it away.

He nodded now and wondered at the way the world suddenly swam at the motion. Maybe he really did have a head injury. He wasn’t that drunk.

Aro’s hand was in his hair then, a gentle cool touch shifting about carefully, pushing Peter’s head down so that he could see the top of his head.

Aro sighed, “You always bleed so terribly.”

“It’s a head injury,” Peter said rolling his eyes and refusing to let the touch visibly relax him, “Bleeding is what they do.”

Aro frowned at him as he continued searching for the cut. Peter could feel the chilling, sticky moisture on his scalp. Christ, he was dowsed in it. How had he missed all of that.

“I do know a bit about the way bodies bleed, Peter, and this is-“

Peter hissed as pain suddenly flared over his scalp.

“Bloody fucking Christ, think you found it,” Peter winced as Aro tsked, “What are you tearing my scalp off for?”

Aro sighed and dropped his hands, “I did no such thing. You just have the pain threshold of a flock of geese.”

Peter tilted his head up to look at Aro, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Aro did not seem to have an answer.

The bewildered expression on the vampire’s face was too much for Peter.

He snorted a helpless laugh as Aro pressed the back of his hand against his own forehead and giggled.

Then Peter was standing in the middle of the desert laughing hysterically with a vampire while covered in his own blood, his chest filling with the lightest, most relieved feeling. Fuck, it felt so good. This. He’d been missing this.

When he could breath again, he wiped a tear from the edge of his eye and grinned at Aro.

“Fuck, I was a bastard,” he said, “I was an idiot bastard. I didn’t ...”

Peter’s smile was gone now. And Aro was watching him.

“I didn’t expect it,” Peter finally said, not quite able to care how soft his voice felt in the space between them.

Aro tilted his head a bit, hummed in agreement, “I won’t say its the first time someone has been overwhelmed by their passion for me. For many it will completely outpace their reason. I am incredibly irresistible after all.”

Peter gave a startled snort, gesturing at Aro’s blood soaked person, “Oh my god. How can you say that so confidently when you’re...” Peter coughed on another laugh, “You ridiculous bastard.”

Aro just smiled at him in answer, completely unbothered by the viscera clinging to him, “Just another Tuesday, darling.”

This did not help Peter gain control of his laughter, “Its... Christ...It’s Thursday.”

“Mm, bleeding and sleep deprived. I can-“

“Do not say you can smell it. I do not want to know,” Peter wheezed.

Then they heard the sounds of voices from out in the desert. They listened as the voices drew closer. Then they saw a beam of a flashlight dart across the sky.

Peter raised a hand and called out to them, suddenly ashamed at how light his heart felt when his friend was still unconscious inside the cave. But his shame didn’t so much as dent the smile he couldn’t get off his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! Happy New Year! 🌱


	7. Meeting the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some changes have been happening that Peter didn’t pay too much attention to until they interrupted his midnight coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dears! I hope this chapter finds you well and that you are all doing okay, considering. If anyone is bored/anxious/restless/curious, feel free to come hang out on [tumblr](http://neverwaswise.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> For I am also bored/anxious/restless/curious and I enjoy chatting with you guys very much!
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by all of those who requested to know what the hell all the other vampires think of these two. Thank you for the lovely prompts!!
> 
> Also please note the updated tags :) And please let me know if there are any you think might need to be added.

Peter’s beautiful new acquaintance has fallen asleep.

Not in the usual way that he prefers. Sprawled out on his bed, debauched and sated. No. This repose is of the ‘barely missed laying her face in a plate of waffles’ variety. And they are at a 24 hour diner with fluorescent lights and the scent of old coffee baked into the linoleum.

And she technically isn’t his date either.

He’d been about a bottle in at sunset when he’d decided he must go dancing that instant or he would die. He’d wandered into a club, lost his favorite jacket somewhere along the way, and then got to dancing.

At some point this delicious lady had stepped out of the flashing lights and deep shadows of the club, painted in glitter and grinning like she’d been summoned to him by the music itself, and pulled him into some of the most enjoyable dancing he’d had in his life.

He’d even laughed, of all things. Honest, joyful laughter. Because he was having fun. He hadn’t had fun in a club since... Christ, had he ever enjoyed them? Had he ever felt the music like he had tonight? Had he ever danced in a room full of strangers and not felt even slightly alone?

He knew the answer.

But something had changed in him these last few months.

And he knew exactly who to blame for it.

And just as he was beginning to wonder what the bastard was doing tonight, and to wonder if Aro knew how to dance any sort of dance that didn’t require a violin accompaniment or buckles on his shoes, Peter’s current dance partner had grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the club on a quest for waffles.

They’d been successful in their quest.

But she’d only gotten through half her plate before her eyes had closed and she’d slumped forward.

Peter had barely had the time to reach out and redirect her head away from a pillow of waffle and syrup.

Now he was slumped back in the booth, holding a warm coffee cup between his hands, watching this stranger sleep. A contentment had settled between the bones of his chest in a way that was only barely becoming familiar.

He wasn’t drunk. Honestly he’d been far too absorbed in the dancing to keep his buzz going. He felt sober and tired and cheerful and relaxed. All feelings he had no clue could be felt at the same time a few months ago.

Until he’d met Aro.

Shit, he really should be more worried about all this than he was. Because he knew what it meant. What all of these changes meant. And they should be terrifying. But they weren’t.

Well alright. They were plenty terrifying.

Just a sort of terrifying he had no intention of doing anything about.

And that he would welcome more of.

Though not out loud. That would be mortifying.

Peter was about to lean his head back against the seat of the booth when he heard the deliberately soft clicking of expensive shoes against the slightly sticky floor of the diner.

“I was not aware you new restaurants existed, my dear. Or food, for that matter,” a familiar voice said.

Peter snorted, getting a quick grip on the way the warmth in his chest flared up at that voice.

Then he called over his shoulder, “And I was perfectly aware you didn’t know anything about minding your own business, so here we are.”

Then Aro was standing at the end of the booth in a dark pinstripe suit with an ivory shirt beneath, the first few buttons at the collar undone and ... shit, how did the fucking fluorescents just make him look more like a glamorous villain from a movie. Captivating. Breathtaking. All those other stupid fucking cliches that had Peter’s chest about to burst open on the table and embarrass both of them.

He’s just standing there, Peter’s thoughts growled, Get ahold of yourself.

But Peter did not, in fact, get any sort of hold on himself, because the next thing Aro did was slide gracefully into the seat beside Peter without even hinting at the need to ask permission first. As if he’d already been invited. As if it was where he belonged.

“Who is this fine creature,” Aro suddenly purred.

It took Peter a moment to realize who he was talking about.

“Ah,” Peter said, “Not sure. She dances like a god though.”

Aro smirked at that, “Hm, a bit of caution with your words might be in order. Wouldn’t want to get her into trouble.”

Peter blinked at him, “What are you talking about.”

Aro turned to face Peter, mischief settling unsettlingly in his eyes, “The gods have a reprehensible habit of jealousy.”

Peter stared at him, “The gods.”

“Mmhm,” Aro said as the waitress approached them.

Peter missed the entire exchange Aro had with the waitress as he looked at the woman sleeping across from him. At the waitress. Out the window.

The waitress was walking away by the time Peter spoke again, “The gods?! Are real?”

Aro just gave him that look like Peter was an adorable but stupid puppy tripping over the rug Aro had carefully placed for exactly this result.

“Of course they are real, Peter,” Aro said, “Humans can certainly get themselves into trouble, but they aren’t quite so talented as to get themselves into all of... this.”

Aro gestured vaguely at the space around them. Peter chose to understand it to mean the world and not the interior of the little diner they were sitting in.

Peter opened his mouth to call Aro a filthy, shameless liar.

But jolted as Aro placed a cool finger over Peter’s lips.

“Now, we are about to have a visitor,” Aro said, “So be your usual charming self and this should all go well enough.”

Peter smacked the finger away from his face, “Well enough?! A visitor- What-“

Then he saw the woman sitting across the table. Poised and dark-skinned and untouchable as a snow covered mountaintop. Despite the human beauty drooling onto the tabletop beside her.

“I have looked forward to meeting you, Mr. McHoolihee,” she says, voice smooth as ice.

“Fucking hell,” Peter said, pressing his fingertips between his eyes.

——

“I’m going to stake you to a McDonald’s menu.”

“Now Peter-“

“What the fuck was that?”

“It was-“

“She called me Herbert. Herbert!”

“That is your name,” Aro reminded him.

“That was my name! Over a decade ago!”

Aro finally managed to look apologetic, “Ah, my apologies Peter. I will see to it the mistake does not happen again.”

Peter was still glaring at Aro, but the anger was bleeding out of it fast. What was left behind was the dregs of alarm at suddenly having a very late coffee with an immortal stranger.

And confusion. A heavy bucketload of confusion.

Peter sighed and slumped down in the booth, “Just answer the question.”

Something about Peter in that moment prompted a miracle because Aro immediately began spilling his guts.

“The Volturi have always been an organization with certain laws. Laws I have been charged with upholding for centuries. However, I have mentioned that I have handed the reins of power over to younger minds.”

Peter stared at him, “Ignoring the fact that you charged yourself with all that upholding, tell me that was not the new queen of the Volturi I just had the world’s most awkward cup of coffee with.”

Aro shifted uncomfortably. Actually shifted. Like a fidgeting human.

Peter’s eyes narrowed as something akin to murderous rage swept through him.

“You bastard,” Peter growled, “Mcdonalds is too kind a final resting place.”

Aro cleared his throat delicately, a familiar look rising in his eyes as Peter spoke.

“Are you...” Peter gasped, “Are you getting turned on?! Because I’m ready to murder you!?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t deny the powerful effect your presence has on-“

“No! If you don’t want to end the night a hood ornament on an ice cream truck, you’ll shut your gob.”

Aro shut his gob.

People were looking at them. People were definitely looking at them, but Peter did not give a single fuck because Aro was giving him that look. And it was throwing a cow in front of his train of thought. Which was pissing him off even more.

The dancing goddess murmured against the table in her sleep.

Pressing his face into his hands, Peter attempted to rub the sudden exhaustion away.

It did not work.

Aro was still carefully watching him, like Peter was a puppy who may or may not go rabid at any moment.

Peter had been angry at Aro before. Aro had been angry at Peter before. This, Peter recognized, wasn’t purely anger. It was that thing he did where fear kind of felt like anger at first until he had a time to recognize it.

It’d only taken a few carefully counted breaths this time.

He was learning.

Finally dropping his hands onto the table with a thump, Peter wriggled until he was reclining back against the window, foot on the seat between them.

“Alright, finish answering my question and then I will decide your fate,” Peter said.

If Aro were human, that minute easing of the tension in his shoulders would have been a relieved sigh.

“Your gracious nature is only exceeded by your elegance, Peter,” Aro said.

Peter just grabbed his now lukewarm coffee and took a large, determined swig of it.

“The simple explanation is that the new heads of the Volturi are a bit more... open minded in their efforts to protect vampire kind. In short, relations between humans and vampires are allowed as long as they are first reviewed and then monitored.”

Peter had completely forgotten about his coffee.

“After all,” Aro said, as awkwardly as Peter had ever seen the vampire say anything, “An immortal life devoid of human bonds is hardly ideal.”

That almost got the vampire throughly kissed.

Very throughly kissed.

But they’d only just resolved the fallout of their first and only kiss. And Peter was certain he wasn’t up for the sequel.

Not yet anyway.

So, instead of tugging Aro across the bench and into his lap for a longed for snog, Peter placed both of his feet on the ground and carefully placed his cup on the table.

“Just...warn me next time,” Peter said

“I see now that that would have been best.”

Peter snorted at that.

“I admit I am curious. If I had warned you in advance, what would you have done differently?”

“I don’t know. Probably have brought Amy along.”

“Not Charlie?”

Peter coughed a sudden laugh, as he turned back to Aro.

“Oh, fuck no. Let him know about all of this? Christ.”

“Please don’t censure yourself to spare my feelings,” Aro said.

“It’s not about your feelings, here. It’s about mine,” Peter said, waving a hand in the air between them, “You’ve never had that boy look at you like the world is too big and complicated to be born. You’ve never had to explain to that brave little toaster that life is complicated and sometimes you have to buy thousands of dollars in little sweaters for your neighbor’s ferrets because its cold outside.”

“What.”

“Look,” Peter said, lifting his empty cup to get the waitress’ attention, “I’ve had weirder friends than you, trust me.”

“How.”

“And every time Charlie finds out about one of them it takes years off my life,” Peter said, ignoring Aro’s question, “So I’d bring Amy. Charlie can just stay out of it. I don’t think I’d survive the embarrassment of it anyway.”

Aro just giggles and settles into the booth beside Peter, giving no sign of going anywhere.

“How much is reasonable for a pair of most definitely counterfeit basilisk skin gloves that are fucking gorgeous?” Peter asked Tom, the man currently driving the car, on their way back to Nevada after a brief show out of state. Peter was in a pleased sprawl in the back seat, requisitioning all the space around him for his long limbs.

Tom glanced back at him in the mirror and raised a perfectly tweezed eyebrow, “How gorgeous?”

Peter leaned forward and placed his phone within easy glance.

“Oh my god,” Tom breathed appreciatively.

“I know,” Peter said, leaning back again and placing his first bid.

A text alert slid over his screen.

<Now that’s just very unsportsmanlike of you>

Peter smirked and replied

-Not going to any vampire parties call me what you like-

<Oh I certainly will>

Peter was left with a warmth in his chest that he didn’t quite know what to do with. So he sent yet another complaint about the never ending trip to Aro and glanced back at eBay. He narrowed his eyes

He had vehemently placed his second bid, sensing the thrill of a bidding war, before he noticed the faint, unmistakable drag of the taxi slowing. He glanced up and frowned.

“You stopping to piss or something?” Peter said, glancing out the windows. All he could see was an empty street riddled with shabbily filled potholes and a whole lot of pale, leafless trees. And it was beginning to rain, the wind howling and pressing against the car.

He had no idea where they were, but the hairs on the back of his neck said Tom could hold it long enough to get them far away from here.

“Hey, put your foot on it, Tom and let’s move down the road a bit more. I don’t like-“

But then Peter reached forward and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. It was stiff as iron, the muscles twitching beneath his fingers like Tom had grabbed a live wire.

Recoiling, Peter leaned to the side to get a better look at Tom.

Tom’s red brown skin was a strange sickly color in the dim lights of the dash, his mouth clenched tightly closed and the muscles of his neck standing out stark beneath his skin.

Dark brown eyes slid toward Peter, wide and terrified. His breath stuttering and loud in the silence.

Then something crossed the headlight beams.

Peter’s fingers pressed hard against the edges of his phone as a pale figure in a sweeping black cloak stood silent and waiting. Tom couldn’t even tremble, a strangled moan barely escaping him as they stared at the creature.

The color of her eyes immediately marked her.

A vampire. And a very particular sort. One that would not flinch at any of the weapons he had available.

Because he wasn’t aware of anything on the fucking earth that could hurt a Volturi.

“Shit,” Peter spat, reaching for the door handle with a trembling hand.

The wind hit him like a river current, sweeping chill through all but his leather jacket. He could smell dry earth and a crispness that he always associated with snow.

Not a bad place to die, with those stars overhead, he thinks in terror.

The figure in the light has not moved, her pale hair lashing unnoticed in the wind. Peter scrambles to think what could have brought her all the way out here. The queen of the Volturi had given him her stamp of approval. And the Volturi laws were legendary to those with their ears to the ground.

Surely she was not here to kill them. Not at the forfeit of her own life.

He found that conviction rang very hollow just now. Especially with how still Tom sat in the front seat.

It took Peter several chilling moments to find his voice and when he did find it, it was a tense, mangled thing.

“He- Hello,” Peter called awkwardly, not moving from behind the door, “Can we help you with something?”

She does not move.

“I’m Peter,” Peter said, “Not overly fond of donating blood to be honest. If you’re here because you’re hungry. That’s not a moral judgement, by any means, I just,” he jerkily shrugged a few times before mentally wrestling himself still again, “Not a fan.”

“Your blood is filthy,” she finally answered, voice sharp as ice, “And old.”

“Oi!” Peter blurted.

“And weak,” she continued, “And stupid.”

Peter didn’t respond to any of that. Mostly because he was suddenly findingit very hard to breath.

Pain. Crackling through the muscles between his ribs like lightening. A searing heat in the bones of his spine rising higher and higher.

He barely felt the rough pavement of the road hit his knees as he pulled in a single, desperate breath of fire.

Then it was gone.

The pain was completely gone, leaving behind it a sort of warm numbness that had Peter lying very still on the road. Not daring to move. No memory of lying down.

The soft tap of a thin soled shoe jerked his attention back toward his surroundings. To the vampire standing over him. Red eyes almost lifeless they were so empty.

Peter tried to hate himself for being such an idiot. For not running when his instincts warned.

But he knew what his chances would have been if he had. Knew much better than most.

And lying on his back on cold asphalt, looking up into that pale face, Peter also knew this wouldn’t be quick.

Well, not if he just took it quietly.

“Well,” Peter said hoarsely, “One of us wasted a Saturday night to assault an old stupid guy.”

The vampire’s face remained impervious.

Peter bare his teeth in a smile, “Is this a hobby for you because you’re insecure or because you’re incredibly boring.”

He had enough time to gasp for one last breath. And then the pain slammed into him like oblivion.

His breathing was loud in his skull. Loud and shuddering and wheezing. The air tasted of copper. And he was so fucking cold. But he wasn’t shivering.

He opened his eyes to bright stars.

And the sensation of his body being far, far away.

But even all the way wherever it was, it hurt like howling, broken thing.

Peter lay there and stared at the stars and did his best to feel nothing for a long time.

Then he made the mistake of glancing over.

The vampire was crouched in the light of the headlights again, her glistening eyes watching him from beneath the car door.

Suddenly Peter’s heart was pounding and the agony of his abused body swept up and plugged back into his brain.

He groaned. Helplessly. Teeth gritted and eyes wide. Then he whimpered. Gasped. Moisture rising in his eyes.

He couldn’t move. His body was screaming at him that it existed. That all of it was still there. But they wouldn’t move.

And the vampire just watched, unblinking. Eyes empty.

Until a shadow stepped between them, snapping the hold of her stare in an instant. Peter sagged where he lay in a strangely grey sort of relief. The newcomer might also be here to hurt him. But for now, he could just breath and wonder what would happen when he died.

Would he go anywhere? Be anything? Would it be better than here?

Would anyone remember him?

Peter didn’t think about that last one for very long because he knew.

He knew.

There was one person. And he would remember him for a very long time.

Somehow that hurt more than there being no one at all.

It took him a moment to recognize that someone was talking. His tormentor, her voice smooth and low steady.

“You are not ashamed,” she said, “But you should be.”

The voice that answered jolted Peter so hard he choked on the pain of it.

“You know I’ve never subscribed to that emotion,” Aro replied, cool and light as dawn.

“And you will never have the chance to. But know that you die in shame.”

“For what,” Aro asked, sounding truly perplexed.

“For weakness, and betrayal,” she said, a tightness in her voice now, “And cowardice.”

“Oh,” Aro sighed, “Those really are some unkind words, Jane. Most unkind. Whatever made you think I would let you get away with them.”

“I don’t care what you allow, Aro. My brother is dead because of you. Because you are weak.”

There was a long silence.

“I warned you the power was shifting. That changes would need to be made,” Aro replied, all brightness in his voice gone, “You did not listen? Oh, Jane.”

Then Peter’s breath caught as the car door began to swing shut, a darkly gloved hand barely touching the metal.

Aro was looking down at him, a strange look in his eyes. Something heavy and tired. The way his mouth barely quirked up at the edge seemed to take an impossible strength.

“Lie still, Peter,” Aro said softly, “Lie very still.”

Then Aro did something Peter had never seen.

He flinched. A sweeping, full body flinch. As if he had been hit. As if he had felt pain. Real pain.

Peter felt sick with horror as Aro turned very slowly away. His movements stiff. As if in a blink he had suddenly aged a thousand years.

No. No. No.

Peter scrambled to move. To climb off the cold ground to stop it all. Somehow.

No, please. Don’t leave. Please.

He screamed through clenched teeth as he, the sound choked by the effort to barely lift his hand from the ground.

“You left us to them!” Jane growled, as Aro took a single, halting step toward her, “Murdered your brothers! I am the only one left. I will kill you.”

Aro said nothing in answer. Took another step.

“My brother died defending the laws you taught us. You turned us and trained us and loved us. And then you left us!”

Finally, Aro answered. His voice broken by soft, panting breaths.

“It was time to grow up, Jane,” he said, “Time for all of us to grow up. You said you understood that.”

Peter gasped, recognizing the name.

“How could I! It was complete madness!”

Aro huffed, “Wasn’t it always?”

Then he was standing before her, reaching out to touch her cheek, as if to wipe away tears that were not there.

“Madness is our world, my sweet Jane, and I used both of you to take control of it. Did you not want to be something? Something other than an arrow in my quiver?”

Jane swallowed, trembled beneath his hand.

“No,” she breathed, her eyes closing.

Then she did something Peter had never known vampires could do.

She sobbed. A huge, sucking sob of keening agony.

“Not without Alec,” she choked, “I can’t. I can’t.”

Aro’s hand brushed over her cheek, her hair.

“Very well,” he said.

Then Peter’s eyes widened as Aro’s hands closed on either side of her head. Like a vice.

Only distantly surprised at his newfound ability to flail his limbs about, Peter scrambled to rise. Failed. Called out.

“Don’t,” he called, “Please don’t!”

Both vampires were suddenly looking at him.

“She asked it of me,” Aro said.

Peter was on his knees now, a hand on the car to steady him, “She’s in pain.”

Aro just blinked at him.

“Her brother died!” Peter said.

That didn’t seem to clarify anything for either of the creatures watching him.

“Fucking vampires,” Peter hissed between gritted teeth and slumped against the car, his strength failing fast. Tremors moved up his exhausted limbs.

“Of course she wants to die when her family is dead,” Peter said, voice soft but plenty loud enough for them to hear, “But...”

Bloody Christ, he did not know what he was saying. Or why. She was a vampire. A fucking scary one. Who had nearly killed him. And probably wouldn’t have any trouble killing more after him if the stories were true.

But the exhaustion on Aro’s face would not leave him alone.

And the broken things inside of Peter would not let him stay quiet.

“She’s your family,” Peter finally said, awkward and halting, “Right?”

Something about Aro’s expression changed then. But Peter did not have time to figure out what it was before Aro spun.

And suddenly Jane was lying still and motionless, the road cracked and split around her head. Her eyes closed. A single tear of blood streaking from beneath her eyelid to stain the ground.

Peter’s mouth was wide open as Aro straightened and looked back at Peter.

“Oh, don’t look at me with those affronted sensibilities,” Aro chided, “I wasn’t about to let her cheek go unpunished, but she isn’t dead.”

The world swayed sickeningly as Aro suddenly appeared at Peter’s side, leaning over him and running gentle, cool hands down his face, cupping his hands around Peter’s neck in a way that felt steadying, anchoring, rather than threatening.

Peter sagged against those hands in relief.

Aro breathed in deeply.

“I know you are hurting everywhere, but is anything broken. I cannot smell-“

“Tom!” Peter said.

Aro frowned, “That is not my-“

“No, you idiot, Tom. In the car!”

“Oh,” Aro said, glancing over, “He’s fine. Just fainted. Humans have trouble withstanding pain, you see.”

“Fuck you,” Peter growled half heartedly.

“Now, I cannot smell any broken bones, but-“

Then Aro’s eyes widened and he crumpled to his knees, a hand flying out to dent the car.

“Did you just-?” Peter began.

“Swoon?” Aro said irritably, “So it would seem.”

Peter stared.

Then he rolled his eyes up at the night sky and laughed. And then closed his eyes and continued to laugh.

Aro seemed to have taken the time to settle himself because when Peter sighed and looked back at him, the vampire was settled at his side. Not blocking the wind much, but certainly welcome anyway.

“So you have a kid,” Peter said, “I’m not interested in people with kids.”

Aro snorted, “Considering you have a few of your own, I find that remarkably hypocritical.”

Peter was trembling from cold and huffing with laughter as he pulled Aro into their second kiss. Aro didn’t seem to mind at all as he tilted his head and hummed.

It was a simple kiss. A brushing of lips. The tickle of lashes against skin.

Slowly, Peter drew back, a warm fluttering thing flying full fledged inside his chest. He smiled.

“You need a ride home?”

Aro sighed dramatically, “Yes, I’m afraid I am quite indisposed at present.”

Peter frowned, “Where do you live anyway?”

Aro gasped, pressing a hand to his chest, “Peter! Such intimate inquiries. How forward!”

Peter covered his face with his hand and groaned, “Oh my god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by! Be safe on your adventures 💋

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please comment if you liked it!
> 
> Edit: So this fic idea has room for prompts if anyone has suggestions of things they’d like to see or are curious about. Not saying my muse will cooperate with all/most of them, but maybe it could be fun! So if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know! 
> 
> You are all delightful :)


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